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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980628">Can't Live Off Words Alone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jofngve/pseuds/jofngve'>jofngve</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Idiots in Love, Love Languages, M/M, Not Beta Read, Slow Burn, We Die Like Men, it takes a while though</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:20:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25980628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jofngve/pseuds/jofngve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They kill each other. And then they don't.<br/>----<br/>Sometime around 1190 Yusuf and Nicolo walk off the battlefield together, and by trecking through Palestine become friends. Just friends. Good friends. Because neither of them shows that they would prefer anything else. Right? </p><p>(They laugh about it in 900 years)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>208</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Swords</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>heyyy guys! So this movie completely grabbed me and refused to let go, so the natural conclusion is to write as much fic as i can in the free time i'm given! I really tried to make this as historically accurate as possible, without getting too finicky with the details but PLEASE let me know if anything needs adjusting regarding the languages/timeline/etc. because even though I did live in the Middle East for quite a while, i am not a native or historian! </p><p>Hope you enjoy it anyway! </p><p>--<br/>Italics are for Arabic and Bold is for Ligurian</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They kill each other. And then they don’t.</p><p> </p><p>First it’s terrible. Feeling the life slip from his fingers. Yusuf is powerless as the dark overtakes him again and again, with no discernible cause. There is no reason to the madness, no explanation for the fact that his enemy and himself are not able to die. It makes no sense, and it’s infuriating. There are no hints, no proof, no connection between events which could explain the painful immortality.</p><p>The only shred of an explanation must lie with the Frank, that pale-eyed demon who appears to be similarly afflicted. Cursed.</p><p>He rises as well, over and over, after that first time in Jerusalem. 1099. Franks had been crawling everywhere, mercenaries and zealots alike, and the city had fallen. But not before Yusuf had drained the life of that bastard; who didn’t hesitate to render him a similar service. They both had bled, they both had died. And they both had woken, gasping the same second-first breath of air. The Frank had fallen a bit further down the wall that Yusuf had been trying to hold, had looked up at him, skin even more unnaturally white, before stumbling away.</p><p> </p><p>They had met again, not long after. Yusuf had seen him walking alone through an alley, and with a quick slit of his throat, left the Frank bleeding out on the cobblestones. He had surely mistaken the other’s death, if not his own. They were not the same, and maybe now with this avenging deed, Yusuf’s own curse would be lifted. Yusuf doesn’t think about the other man again for a while (better not to), before feeling the pain in his back, caused by the other’s blade, and awaking under the hands of a frightened woman, who he scared half to death by not staying dead himself.</p><p> </p><p>And so it went on. The next few times they didn’t kill each other in such a cowardly fashion, refusing to leave before making sure the other would not wake again. It did not happen. They had parted ways, clothing and skin soaked in blood after death upon death, but both became and remained unharmed.</p><p>The dance went on, on and on, terrifying and filled with the same amount of rage and confusion which was just slowly being undermined by a steadily growing amount of .. what? Resignation? Yusuf doesn’t know what to call it, but his adversary seems to feel the same hopelessnessof their shared situation grow similarly cancerous under his skin.</p><p> </p><p>After a while the dance just gets tiring. And Yusuf is tired. A bone-deep ache that he hasn’t been able to shake since the first time that cursed Frank had rammed him through with that fucking sword of his.</p><p>The same sword that the same Frank is calmly sharpening across from him, as he lies in the hay. When Yusuf considers how they had found themselves in this situation it seems both unbelievably und erroneously easy.</p><p> </p><p>The summer sun had borne down on them both, and the air was thick, the battlefield plagued with the remnant smoke of the fires Salah ad-Din had set to the sparse bushes littering the rocky ground. The Christian invaders had found themselves at the Horns of Hattin, halfway on their path to free Tiberias - outnumbered with no water or knowledge to speak of. Coupled with the smoke-filled air, and a thick-headed leader, it had been easy pickings.</p><p>The battle as such had been like all the ones before, and all those to come. And the details did not and will not really matter. But Yusuf turns after slashing his scimitar across another enemy, watching him fall, can feel some of his blood splatter across his hand, hot and wet. He turns, and then the Frank is standing there as well, pale eyes wide. He takes a step forward, sword not raised, but Yusuf is already moving, blade poised and ramming, unimportuned into the foreigner’s chest. The Frank’s eyes grow wider still underneath his helmet, and the air is punched out of him, before he crumples, a puppet cut of its strings, into the dirt.</p><p>It feels rude to wipe his saif on the Frank, so Yusuf does it on the nearest other body. The last few deaths had not lasted as long as the first, the time spent dead becoming shorter and shorter. But that knowledge does not keep Yusuf’s heart from hammering in his chest, though it might simply be the adrenaline. Things seem to hover in a void, the cries and shouts and noise of the men and their weapons echoing distantly, while the body in the dust remains only a body.</p><p>A choked-off gasp, and the body becomes a man once more. He coughs in the dust, and moves to stand, slowly finding himself upright, helmet lost and hair disheveled. He grips his sword and looks at Yusuf. He holds it tightly, but turns his palms outward, nudging his head. The tunnel vision only grows stronger as Yusuf nods, and he will ask himself for many years to come how he had turned his back and known that Nicolo would follow.</p><p>But for now all Yusuf knows is that it’s almost been a hundred years. Almost a hundred years since this death and the first. If God or a devil or destiny has tied him with this man, there must be a reason.</p><p> </p><p>———</p><p> </p><p>They had made their way to the lake, and continued walking south down the river, eager to set a bit of distance between their former armies. For the first few steps they could still hear the fighting, loud and thunderous. It faded too quickly, and the only sounds left were the buzzing of the cicadas and their own footsteps, the gravel and dirt crunching underneath their shoes. Yusuf curses that he wasn’t able to bring his horse, hopes she will at least find someone else to care for her. He’s not yet sure if he prefers his new company.</p><p>They had rested at the soonest possibility, as the Frank had gained the colour of the red dirt and huffed almost as badly as Yusuf’s mare used to, after galloping a distinctly farther distance. No matter.</p><p>Shade was easy to find in the underbrush of teh river. After a long drink and washing the blood from his face the Frank turns. He seems to want to start a conversation, opens his mouth, rethinks, and closes it again with a click. He licks his lips, pauses, and places a palm on his chest. “Nicolo,” he says, with earnest eye-contact, and Yusuf isn’t sure whether to laugh at his serious demeanour or at the ridiculous nature of the situation. The fact that they both have known each other so long, and only in death, makes the exchanging of names almost comical.</p><p>“Yusuf,” he says, and nods.</p><p>The Frank, Nicolo, seems happy with the arrangement, his mouth betraying it with the slightest upward tug. He simply nods as well, and turns to look out onto the water.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf takes the first watch, somehow able to communicate it with Greek (which he is perfectly capable of speaking, but the Frank seems to have his problems with the language), watching his now-comrade remove his sword and lay on his side. Yusuf did not want to start a fire, and the night was warm enough as it is. He can only see the other man’s outline in the pale light of the moon, how he’s hunched on his left, still packed in his armour.</p><p>Yusuf will tell him to leave it tomorrow, the metal too heavy for their trek and too easily identifiable, even if the Frank’s hair and pale face wouldn’t give him away.</p><p> </p><p>They travel on the next morning, both thankfully cleaned by the river and more or less purged of their respective armies' affiliations, walking along the Jordan. The only thing they both had kept which would somehow identify them as belonging to either army, was their swords. Yusuf would not lie when he said that the straight, heavy metal of Nicolo's longsword did not fill him with the best of feelings. But the weapons should be inconspicous enough and either way they don’t cross paths with many people, a farmer or shepherd here and there, women and girls getting water.</p><p>When they stop as well to fill their waterskin, an older woman eyes Yusuf.“<em>You there,</em>” she says, eyes only resting on Nicolo a moment too long, “<em>What are you two doing this far east?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf starts but thinks quickly, lacing his words with a dialect, “<em>Good day! We are merchants,separated from our caravans after being attacked by that god-forsaken Raynald.</em>” It was common knowledge that the Frenchman had made a habit of plundering merchants which were under the protection of a peace treaty.</p><p>“<em>We fled when we heard of the battle for Tiberias, and the Franks were on our tails</em>.” He gestures to Nicolo, who’s playing the surprised foreigner with unknowingly perfect accuracy, “<em>My friend would’ve been killed as well, both by his own and ours.</em>” Yusuf grins and winks at the older woman, “<em>but who could blame us for it, look at that ghost of a face.</em>”</p><p>The woman seems satisfied, and fills her amphora. She bows back up and places a hand on her hip, “<em>If you are not in a rush, I could use two pairs of strong hands for food and lodging</em>.”</p><p>Yusuf nods immediately, his stomach thinking for him. His pack had only held a ration of bread from before the battle, and it was only a distant memory.</p><p>“<em>My well has dried up, forcing me to use the river</em>,” she sighs, “<em>my husband and son are away in Jerusalem and it would only use two, three shovels to reach the water.</em>” She beckons, “<em>Follow me.</em>”</p><p>Yusuf nudges Nicolo and starts following the woman who introduced herself as Fadwa. She smiles as Yusuf asks to carry her water and soon the two are chatting, leaving the Frank to try to follow the quick Arabic.</p><p> </p><p>They reach a large farmhouse soon enough, a barn at the side where they are asked to leave their meagre belongings.</p><p>The well is behind the house, and the Frank nods in apparent understanding when Yusuf explains the problem. He moves to tie the rope of the bucket around himself, looping a complicated knot and pulling it tight, and nodding at Yusuf. He hands him a lamp and moves to lower him slowly into the earth.</p><p>Something tugs at Yusuf’s mind and the thought has him reeling; he would only need to let go of the rope and his nightmare would be taken care of. The Frank would remain in this hole, no longer able to haunt him. But as soon as the thought is thought a wave of shame overcomes him. How can he think that? The hatred for the man at the end of the rope had burned so bright for so long it seems difficult to let go of. What good would it do? What would Yusuf do if he found himself betrayed at the bottom of a well for God knows how long?</p><p>The Frank- <span class="u">Nicolo</span> looks at him expectantly, gesturing at the shovel. Yusuf hands it to him.</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo finishes the well within the hour and Yusuf, feeling bad for having gotten the better end of the deal (and his cowardly thoughts), takes over most of the work repairing a fence. They both patch the roof with a similar lack of skill.</p><p> </p><p>It’s not yet dark when they finish and Fadwa was kind enough to let them sleep in the barn after stuffing them full of food. Yusuf had thanked her profusely, and even the Frank had managed a <em>Thank You</em> in very mangled Arabic. But Fadwa had seemed charmed, handing them each a bundle of provisions, and the reminder to join her for breakfast tomorrow.</p><p>It is a bit early to sleep, so they spend the rest of the evening teaching each other different words.</p><p>It had only started a few nights ago when Yusuf had grown tired of the silence and those pale, staring eyes. It turned out that the Frank was Genoese and very offended by the wrong term Yusuf had allocated him in his mind. His accent was similarly terrible to what Yusuf had heard from others, but the frown of concentration set Nicolo apart. He seemed to want to press the words out perfectly, repeating it multiple times to get a nod of approval. Yusuf had been able to surprise him with the fact that he already knew a bit of Ligurian, laughing for the first time in a while at Nicolo’s stunned face and rapid-fire questioning. It went on while they walked, pointing to the sun and sky and trees and rocks and dirt.</p><p>Yusuf stretches and sits down, humming. Knocking against the wood of their shelter, he offers, “<em>Barn</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Barn</em>,” Nicolo repeats, slowly, a bit too short on the vowel but Yusuf nods all the same. “<b>Barn</b>,” Nicolo offers and so it goes on.</p><p>“<em>Hay</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Hay?</em> <b>Hay</b>.”</p><p>“<b>Hay</b>. Hmm <em>door</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Door</em>... <b>door</b>.”</p><p>“<b>Door</b>.”</p><p>There’s not much to find in the barn and Nicolo gestures at the animals in the back and proudly offers, “<em>Goat</em>.” Yusuf grins and nods and stifles a yawn.</p><p> </p><p>The Genoese looks around, searching for other things to name.</p><p>“<b>Sword</b>?”</p><p>Yusuf opens his eyes, being lulled into sleep by the smell of the hay and straw, and the now pleasantly cool night air. The man has unsheathed his sword and holds it lightly in a pale hand. Thin fingers and broad palms don’t help much to disguise the fact that Yusuf knows what those hands are capable of.</p><p>“<em>Sword,</em>” he offers after a pause, throat a bit tighter than he would like to betray.</p><p>Nicolo seemingly realises the delicate subject matter, and tilts his head as he notices Yusuf’s tone.</p><p>“Sword,” he replies, focused as always, and then grabs his sword by the blade, offering Yusuf the weapon.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf takes it, almost automatically and then he’s holding the sword which has killed him so many times before. It’s balanced very differently than his scimitar, heavier, with an unfamiliar heft which makes sense considering the Genoese often wielded it two-handedly. Yusuf tilts it in the low light, and the blade gleams. It’s strange to think the metal is familiar with his flesh, his blood, his pain. Is it the blade? The blade that keeps him tied to the world of the living? But no- no, he had choked on that fig two years back and is very sure that would have killed him as well.</p><p>Yusuf just doesn‘t understand it, it puzzles him to no end that the secret remains hidden and he remains simply exposed to his fate without rhyme or reason. Almost lost in thought he brings his hand to the blade and slices, clean across his fingers, blood already welling up.</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo shouts, and is next to him in a heartbeat, ripping, not the sword, but Yusuf‘s hand away, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist. But the cut is already healing, skin re-knitting while the blood is still wet. With a swipe of his sleeve, Nicolo wipes the blood away. They both look at unmarred skin.</p><p>“<em>I don’t understand it,</em>” Yusuf grouses, cross, and the other man looks at him with wide eyes, dropping his wrist. He doesn’t move back to where he sat however. He holds his hand out and tries, “<em>Swor</em>?”</p><p>“<em>Swor</em><em>d</em>,” Yusuf corrects, and to show off adds, in Ligurian, “<b>It’s very sharp</b>.”</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo puffs out a breath and nods, “<b>The only thing it needs to be</b>.” He roots around in a pocket and pulls out a whetstone.</p><p>With steady, practiced movements he begins to sharpen the two-sided blade, and the repetitive sounds soon lull Yusuf into a light doze. He has leaned back in the straw, his bag cushioning his head, and wonders what a younger version of himself would say against him sleeping while his enemy sharpens their blade. As if he had heard it, the sounds stop and Yusuf cracks an eye open when he doesn’t feel the blade in his side.</p><p>Nicolo is caught staring, and starts, sheathing his sword as an excuse to look away. Yusuf grins.</p><p>“<b>I thought I would wake with your sword in me</b>.”</p><p>Nicolo frowns, and sniffs, peeved, “<b>I believe I am smart enough to know that would only lead to your clothing being ruined and you killing me back</b>.”</p><p>Yusuf shrugs, “<b>I don’t know that</b>.”</p><p>That earns him an unimpressed stare and a curse muttered under Nicolo’s breath.</p><p>Then he turns to Yusuf.</p><p>“<b>Should I sharpen yours</b>?”</p><p>Yusuf blinks, “<b>My what</b>?”</p><p>“<em>Your … sworD</em>,” Nicolo tries in Arabic and it’s not terrible.</p><p>Yusuf thinks, then shrugs, sitting up, “<em>If you want to</em>.”</p><p>Nicolo nods, laying his sword to the side, as Yusuf moves to hand him his scimitar. Nicolo takes it, both palms facing upward, almost looking revenant. He grips it by the hilt, weighing it similarly to how Yusuf had done with his just moments before. Yusuf watches him as he turns the whetstone in his hand and begins to follow the curved shape of the blade. When he sees that he isn’t completely ruining the grain of the blade, Yusuf lies back into the hay.</p><p>“<b>Wake me tomorrow</b>,” he yawns and with the recommencing sound of the stone on the metal, sleep soon overtakes him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Destiny</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Italics are for Arabic and Bold is for Ligurian :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had been able to move south relatively quickly, following the flow of the river Jordan without larger intervention. At some point Yusuf had suggested setting their sights on Cairo to which Nicolo had raised no objections.<br/>“<em>Ah, a port, no</em>?” He mimes what Yusuf guesses to be waves with his hands, “<em>Ships? There will be work.</em>”</p><p>With that brilliant prospect the trek had continued. Yusuf wanted to reach the sea down south and then move west to cut through the mountainous desert to reach Cairo. While they had not yet been discovered or recognised, it would be safer to stick to the backcountry, using the less-traveled back roads to avoid as many people as possible. Of course there were other characters with the same idea, but until now those who had recognised Nicolo’s light hair and odd eyes had kept to themselves.</p><p>They have to pass through a few villages, and Yusuf always tries to get them some sort of work. They will not hope to brave the mountains in the west without some collection of supplies.<br/>People are often wary of Nicolo, eying him suspiciously with good reason. But Yusuf vouches for him, knocks him heartily on the back, which never fails to take the foreigner by surprise, and that seems good enough for most. They do their work, laying bricks, fixing wells, protecting herds of goats from a mountain lion on more than one occasion. They are given dried meat and fruit by an elderly women that Yusuf reminded of her son, and buy two bedrolls and another waterskin. Save the rest.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf is not sure why he had not thought to leave earlier. With time and death no longer a constraint, it seems foolish to have remained stationary for so long. But the thought to leave Jerusalem, to leave the fighting across the Levant had not occurred to him.<br/>Perhaps the only reason for his undying was his purpose, a task imposed on him by God, to protect His land and His people. Perhaps he had been chosen to witness the savage slaughter at the siege of Jerusalem, had been chosen to live on only to now be tasked with avenging those who had to perish too early and far too brutally.</p><p>But then if this was Yusuf’s chosen destiny, why was he given an adversary with the same fate? The same apparent purpose? These thoughts plagued Yusuf in the dark of night, when he lay restless after being woken, violently, seeing flashes of his enemy in his dreams. Death upon death had shown that the Genoan was undying as well, his fate tied to Yusuf. They have both been tasked with ensuring the other’s death. But neither of them succeeded. How could God pit them against each other with no method of ending this madness?</p><p>It does not matter. There is no definitive answer to the question, and now that the two men had both made a sort of peace, travel is easier together. Every day is different, filled with trying to make Nicolo understand verb-conjugation and how to not get sunburned. But by this stage, judging from Nicolo’s red nose and peeling shoulders, and coupled with his inability to grasp the past participle, Yusuf is sure it’s a lost cause.<br/>In any case it is a distraction, an entertaining one, to see the Genoan stumble over his pronunciation, Yusuf laughing out loud when a wrongly placed intonation leads him to say something entirely different. Nicolo will huff, muttering under his breath, but try anew with his brow furrowed in such concentration that Yusuf has to laugh once more.</p><p>The thought of the inherent wrongness nags in the back of Yusuf’s mind, but the further they stray from Jerusalem, the more muted it has become. What else is there to do? This cease-fire has not yet caused the divine intervention Yusuf had expected. Until it does, he will continue to grin at Nicolo’s focussed expression instead of aiming to be the one to cause it to go slack. Yusuf will count himself lucky.</p><p>The luck does not hold.</p><p> </p><p>They come in the night and the only warning Yusuf gets is a choked-off shout of his name, and the loud neighing of a horse.<br/>He starts out of his sleep, rolling to his feet in a swift motion, thankful for the muscle memory, the courtesy of countless nightly disturbances.</p><p>Bandits.</p><p>Yusuf should have taken the first watch.</p><p>They had set up to rest a few hours ago, and had lit a fire to roast the two turtledoves Nicolo had been able to somehow catch. He had tried to explain something in rapid Ligurian, exuding immense pride and using extensive hand-gestures to describe the event that had led to the soon-to-be “feast”. The only thing Yusuf was able to surely discern was Nicolo’s elation. The man had grinned so wide it was almost infectious, nodding towards the rocky overhang, underneath which they had already set up camp.<br/>“<em>I will</em>-,” he mimes plucking feathers until Yusuf provides him with the Arabic word “<em>pluck</em>”, and he nods vigorously, striding past Yusuf to get started, ears still sun-burned red.</p><p>Nicolo had then taken the first watch and Yusuf had gladly accepted, laid the bedroll he had kindly been sold for a fraction of the sum by a generous family onto the stony earth, and turned his back on both the dying fire and the man sitting on the other side of it.</p><p> </p><p>And now they both stood surrounded. The smoke of the fire must have been a clear beacon for anyone with bad intentions. The light of the full-moon ensures more than enough sight in the dark.</p><p>A tall man stands in front of Yusuf with a horse and raises his hand. Another man grabs hold of the reins; so the tall man must be ringleader of this brigade. It will be seen what can be done with that information.<br/>“<em>Please</em>,” Yusuf says, hands raised, eyes flitting across the man in front of him; not a lot of armour, but he has a scimitar sheathed at his right. “<em>We have nothing to give except the clothes off our backs,</em>” Yusuf says, <em>“You will find nothing here.</em>”<br/>The tall man’s face is almost gaunt and he eyes Yusuf warily, “<em>That may be so. But trust is hard to come by these days.</em>”<br/>He gestures at Yusuf’s scimitar, which he had placed two steps from his bedroll.<br/>“<em>That at least might make this worth our while.</em>”</p><p>Yusuf glances over at Nicolo, whose hand is wrapped around his longsword, surrounded by three or four other men. It’s difficult to tell in the dark, the faint embers of the fire not much help; but the light of the moon makes Nicolo almost glow, skin ghastly white. Yusuf can see how he holds himself, stiff and tense, coiled and ready to move at the tiniest nudge, and able to do enough damage when given the chance.</p><p>Yusuf mimes the Innocent, makes his voice shake in false fear.<br/>“<em>Brother, times are tough for us all, and this sword is all I have left to defend myself in this world,</em>” he visibly swallows, “<em>do not take if from me.</em>”<br/>The other man is maybe eight paces away.<br/>“<em>You will not get much for it anyway,</em>” Yusuf continues and steps forward. The man’s hand moves to his sword, but he does not unsheathe it. He is trusting his compatriots to keep their weapons drawn instead.<br/>“<em>It’s sloppily made,</em>” Yusuf lies, and takes another step, “<em>I myself won it from an infantry man.</em>”<br/>His scimitar now lies at his feet.<br/>“<em>I will show you, the blade is long damaged, look-</em>“</p><p>He is too slow. The last remnants of sleep still cling to him, making his movements sluggish and sloppy. Halfway to his saif, he hears Nicolo shout before he feels the short blade in his back, a dagger if he’d have to guess. But that is the last thing he guesses before the pain engulfs him.<br/>Yusuf had hoped the repeated dying would soften some of the edge, but alas, his back is on fire and everything else is starting to go pleasantly cold. Thankfully the bandit possessed good aim he thinks through the haze as he feels himself tilt towards the earth, face becoming painfully acquainted with the rocky ground. He can hear shuffling and another shout but it is of little concern to him. Everything goes conveniently dark. Yes, he’ll just continue to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>“-uf!”<br/>He wakes with a gasp, lungs already heaving air before Yusuf knows quite what’s going on. It is again like waking from slumber albeit a much deeper one. Strong hands hold him steady as he gulps until his lungs are full and he is able to even his breathes. He had fallen close to the dying fire and as he gets his bearings he sees Nicolo, his hands still firmly placed on his shoulders, and he is surely a sight to behold.</p><p>“Yusuf!” the other man breaths, pale eyes almost black with how wide his pupils have become. They bear into his own and only blink after Yusuf does. Blood is splattered on his face and his front is soaked; so much so that it must be a mixture of others and his own. The hands abruptly leave and as Nicolo runs one through his hair, combing back the wet, darker strands, Yusuf can see them shake.<br/>“<strong>You- you were-… I-</strong>“ in the light of the moon Yusuf can see how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, “<em>I thought you had died.</em>”<br/>“<em>I did</em>,” Yusuf laughs, but it’s a breathless sound, more of a harsh exhale than anything else. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest.<br/>Nicolo shakes his head and moves further back as Yusuf gets up only to lean back on his elbows, still too shaky to fully right himself. And Nicolo is kneeling in front of him anyway, a hand’s widths away. In the pale light Yusuf can see Nicolo’s eyes flit over him, seemingly checking him over for blood or injuries. In the dark it is almost intimate.<br/>“<strong>I just-</strong>“ Nicolo shakes his head again, as if hoping to get rid of a fly. He switches to Arabic. “<em>It wasn’t me,</em>” he supplies, turning back to look at Yusuf, brows furrowed, mouth a tight line and eyes still impossibly wide.</p><p>Realisation dawns.</p><p>“<em>It was not you who killed me,”</em> Yusuf says slowly, and Nicolo looks away again, “<em>you were worried that I would stay dead if it wasn’t you.</em>”<br/>Nicolo nods. He stays silent.<br/>A feeling not unlike affection blooms in his chest and Yusuf doesn’t know what else to say either.</p><p>“<em>But,</em>” he tries, “<em>surely someone other than me has harmed you as well, no</em>?”<br/>Nicolo sighs and leans back to sit down properly, inadvertently moving closer to the still-glowing embers. The blood is a stark, dark contrast to the light linen of his shirt.</p><p>“<strong>Yes,</strong>” he answers finally, staring into the glow of the fire, “<em>yes. But I didn’t know if you..</em>” he lets the sentence stand as it is. Yusuf thinks he can fill in the blanks.<br/>“<em>And here I was thinking you’d be happy to have me gone,</em>” Yusuf says, trying to lace some humour into his voice.<br/>It does not seem to have worked well because Nicolo’s gaze snaps back to lock onto Yusuf’s face.<br/>“<strong>No!</strong>” he says, heaving a breath, voice urgent in his mother’s tongue, “<strong>I- I don’t want to be alone in this. You cannot die!</strong>”<br/>Yusuf sits up as well, mirroring Nicolo’s position by the fire, “<strong>I won’t.</strong>” He knows it might not lie in his power but Yusuf knows he will not abandon the man who shares his fate. The man who sits in front of him, with shaky hands, covered in viscera to keep them from being separated.</p><p>He grabs the other man’s arm and ignores how Nicolo jumps, tries to let the truthful words flow, “<em>While we have crossed paths as enemies and may have remained as them for long, it does not do well to dwell on what has been. I do not know why we share the same fate but we share it. I have been upset that I share it with you, but I now see that it does not matter. By God’s will we are tied, and I will not let the tie be cut.</em>”<br/>Yusuf breathes in having said more than he wanted to but still adds, “<em>We might part paths, in life or in death, but we were meant to find each other.</em>”</p><p>He does not know how much Nicolo can understand but his furrowed brow evens out and the way with which he is still staring at Yusuf’s face seems to suggest he comprehends his intention.<br/>Nicolo nods slowly. “<strong>Like destiny,</strong>” he says, voice quiet in the dark, two words to Yusuf’s twenty.</p><p>“<strong>Destiny,</strong>” Yusuf repeats. Then offers, “<em>destiny.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Destiny,</em>” Nicolo says, with perfect intonation.</p><p> </p><p>That night they sleep closer to another, Yusuf pulling his bedroll over to where Nicolo has resumed his watch. He falls asleep faster than he expected to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next up: Cairo! </p><p>Let me know what you thiiink, I'm still on the fence about whether or not to pull this a bit further still, and only let them reach Cairo in chapter 4. We shall seeeee! </p><p>The next chapter should maybe come a bit quicker, I have a long train-ride to fill tomorrow! Stay safe everyone ♡</p><p>EDIT: AO3 messed up the bold and italics it shouuuld be fixed now!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Cairo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Italics are for Arabic and Bold is for Ligurian :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Having reached Cairo, the two men do not see any immediate reason to part ways and are eager to find employment. Actually finding suitable work happens with such chance that it is hard to believe destiny was not at play again.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf had been thankful for the bandits involuntarily providing them with a horse and had sold it as soon as they had entered the city. The gelding had been young and strong, and the coin had been enough for a room in an inn a bit outside of the central city, with two beds and warm meals for the coming week.</p><p>It was such a relief to be back in a city. Yusuf had almost cried after being able to bathe again after the long, dirty trek through the desert. Nicolo had followed him into the city, perplexed at the bath house Yusuf had pulled him into, looking around as if he had never seen one. Yusuf had to laugh, rolling his eyes; he probably did not if the state most Franks had been in during the fighting was any indication.<br/>Nicolo’s eyes had grown owlishly big as they stripped but he had remained quiet, grabbing a towel and sticking to Yusuf like a pale shadow. But he too had relished in the cool water of the baths, exclaiming something in quiet, rapid Ligurian before sinking under like a fish. And after soaping up and washing off the grime of a week in the desert, Nicolo was very difficult to coax back out again.</p><p> </p><p>They had wandered through the city later, through the markets and alleys, residential areas and business districts.</p><p>Yusuf found himself chatting animatedly, surprised at how much he wanted to tell Nicolo. There was just so much to narrate, to explain, to show.<br/>(Here, this is how you find the freshest bread)<br/>(No that’s too much to pay for soap of this quality)<br/>(Haggle and don’t back down, but be polite)<br/>(Try these, the smallest figs are the sweetest)<br/>Nicolo seems to soak everything up like a sponge, nodding so much Yusuf is afraid his head will fall off. He poses questions in careful Arabic and Yusuf resumes his explanations, pride blossoming in his chest. Pride at being able to explain everything, not for any other reason that he would deign to consider.</p><p>They walk through the streets, as friends Yusuf thinks, moving in tandem, sticking together with a closeness which was unfamiliar before. It is weird to consider the man to his right as a friend, but it seems to be the correct word. Yes, it is the correct term for how Nicolo listens and nods and follows, and holds out an arm to stop Yusuf from being knocked over by a cart pulled by a young donkey which cuts them off at the next street.</p><p> </p><p>They are just passing by a store down by the river when a man bursts forth from its doors, and slams into Nicolo, knocking him to the ground, into the dust. Yusuf barely has the time to react before the owner of the shop has barrelled out after the man.<br/>“Thief!” he screams and Nicolo coughs “<strong>Go!</strong>” from where he lies prone in the dirt, and Yusuf is off like a shot running after the man who is pushing more and more people out of the way in his aim to get away.</p><p>Yusuf slips through the throng of people like water, stops abruptly to help up an elderly man and almost looses the thief when a cart is shoved into the street. Yusuf turns the next corner and is immediately met with the tip of the criminal’s blade. Yusuf is just able to take a step back before ramming himself on the knife. While it will not result in any lasting consequences, he doesn’t need to soil his clothes.</p><p>“Do not move!” the man yelps, out of breath. His hand holding the knife is shaking, and his eyes are wide, almost crazed as he huffs out breath after breath. They are standing in a shady alley, the limestone walls high to either side of them, casting them both in shadow.<br/>“Calm yourself,” Yusuf says, raising his hands, “Return what you have taken and be on your way. Nothing bad needs to occur.”<br/>The man laughs hysterically, and rearranges the grip on his knife. His stance is all wrong, the chase has left him shaky, “Not a chance in hell. What will you do to stop me anyway?”<br/>Yusuf sighs, and shakes his head, hands still raised, “Nothing, but please. Do it for your conscience.”<br/>The thief takes a step forward. He is dressed almost as shabbily as Yusuf, and he is not the one who had abandoned an army two fortnights ago.<br/>“Exactly,” the man says, and points his knife, now less shaky, “I could gut you right here and no one would come to stop you from bleeding out in the dirt.”<br/>Oh how nice it would be if it could be that simple.<br/>The thief takes another step forward and Yusuf is already resigning himself to having to explain his blood-splattered clothes without carrying forth any wounds, when Nicolo suddenly steps out from behind a wall of boxes stacked to the side of an alley wall neither of them had noticed, sword drawn and pressing the tip against the thief’s back.<br/>“<em>Do as he says</em>,” Nicolo says in a low voice, and the knife clatters to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>They return the thief with his loot to the store, with the help of both Nicolo’s sword in his back and Yusuf’s strong grip on his arm. The merchant is so ecstatic he urges them both to wait in the backroom while the criminal situation is handled, and joins them not ten minutes later.</p><p>The backroom is meticulously organised, salt and spices sharing the space with furs and other animal skins, bars of precious metals.<br/>Yusuf drops to one of the stools, already considering his next opportunity to visit the bath house. He could swing by after dinner, he hopes the chase in the midday sun will have been worth it. But he recognises the merchant’s family name, long existent and reputable, and apparently doing well by the look of this backroom.<br/>Nicolo does not sit down, but turns his head, eyes wide, and moves to the spice cabinet almost mystified. There is a strong smell in the air, but not one Yusuf immediately recognises until Nicolo picks up the frankincense, turns it in his hand to sniff at the rough burlap material that holds it.<br/>“<em>What is it?</em>” Yusuf asks but Nicolo only shakes his head, places the bag back in its marked spot on the shelf and moves to sit down on the stool by the door, next to Yusuf. His face is a blank mask.</p><p>The merchant comes back soon enough, with a jug and three cups, and introduces himself as Mahmoud. He thanks them profusely (apparently the thief had been able to grab most of the coin of the past week’s transactions), and they get to talking. Well, he and Yusuf get to talking, Nicolo sitting and sipping his drink while calmly observing the two men.<br/>Yusuf uses a familiar cover-story for them both, something about having worked for the caravans to the north of Jerusalem, that they had fled down south. It gives a practical reason for Nicolo to be travelling with Yusuf (there was always need of some sort of translating), and often found much sympathy.</p><p>It seems to have been exactly the right story to pitch Mahmoud, as he immediately tears up and tells of his mother’s family who had fled similarly from the Golan heights down to the Nile. He thanks God to have been brought such good men from close to home and when the conversation drifts, the topic turns to where Yusuf and Nicolo are staying. Have they found work yet in Cairo?</p><p>“Here and there,” Yusuf supplies, “people have been kind and so we have been able to find ourselves here only with the help of so many generous people.”<br/>“<em>God be thanked,</em>” Nicolo says quietly and Mahmoud nods in agreement.<br/>“Well, I do not want to call it luck that you two have had to find your way to Cairo, but it is a close thing.” Mahmoud empties his cup and gestures at nothing in particular, “I have been short-staffed for quite some time. I’ve had to send my two sons out with the caravans instead of helping me here, and we see what that has almost wrought me.”<br/>“If you would be interested in taking over for them, I would gladly hire you over the rest of the summer and into the winter, if you so wish.”</p><p>So the deal is made. Mahmoud is delighted, pressing kisses to their cheeks, which Nicolo takes in stride despite Yusuf being able to practically sense his surprise. Ah yes, cultural differences.</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo is still oddly still when they walk balk to their inn.</p><p>While the man is never the most talkative, it is surprising how much this silence differs to his usual one. Nicolo’s face remains blank, eyes turned downward, and a thoughtful wrinkle has found its home between his eyebrows.</p><p>Dusk is fast approaching and they quickly finish the warm meal their landlady provides. She adds another scoop to Yusuf’s bowl and winks at him, her crows-feet deepening.</p><p> </p><p>Their room has a ladder leading to a latch in the roof, and Yusuf climbs it first. With the sun almost set, the air has lost some of its oppressive heat. There is a cool breeze on the roof, flowing in from the river, and Yusuf sighs leaning back to lie down on the woven mat he grabbed from their room.</p><p>“<strong>What bothers you?</strong>” Yusuf asks in comfortable Ligurian.<br/>Nicolo starts from where he is sitting. He has his knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs.</p><p>He breaths out, and does not answer for so long that Yusuf believes he will not receive an answer.</p><p>“<strong>I-</strong>“ finally comes, in the same language, “<strong>I was thinking of the past.</strong>”</p><p>“<strong>Oh?</strong>” Yusuf asks.</p><p>Nicolo keeps looking straight ahead, out onto the city. It stretches farther than Jerusalem, or seems to at least, as the buildings are not as tall, and not as divided from one another by Jerusalem’s necessary high walls.<br/>“<strong>It all seems so long ago. Me coming here. The fall of Jerusalem,</strong>” his eyes flick over, “<strong>Us dying at each other’s hands.</strong>”<br/>Nicolo’s gaze is trained on a point on the horizon, where the mighty river is just barely visible.<br/><em>“I suppose it has been a while,</em>” Yusuf says, trying to remain prosaic even though his heart has unfathomably started to beat rapidly in his chest.</p><p>“<em>Yes, I suppose it has,</em>” Nicolo breathes out, and remains quiet for another while.</p><p>He finally turns, tilting his head, and looks at Yusuf, “<em>Did you know I used to be a priest?</em>”<br/>At that Yusuf cannot help himself and lets a laugh escape. Something pulls at the righthand corner of Nicolo’s lips.<br/>“<em>Ah priest? You?</em>”<br/>Nicolo smiles, the barest of gestures, but Yusuf grows warm seeing it anyway. But Nicolo turns sober once more and just nods.</p><p>A thought occurs to Yusuf. “<em>The frankincense? In the storeroom?</em>”<br/>The other man nods again and resumes his watch over the city. “<em>Yes. I had almost forgotten the smell.</em>”<br/>He pauses. Licks his lips. “<em>It brought back so much. Things I had not known I could forget.</em>”<br/>“<em>About the past?</em>”<br/>Another nod. “<em>It is... difficult to believe that that was once my one and only calling.</em>”<br/>“<em>Is that why you came here?</em>”<br/>Nicolo sighs. He wipes a hand over his face and re-grips his knees. “<em>Yes. I-</em> <strong>We were told it was our .. task, our purpose, our duty. And then the holy land, the city of God just ended up being a different stage for the same political squabbles as back home.</strong>” His voice grows forceful, “<strong>Just combined with the additional, senseless slaughter of women and children and innocents.</strong>”<br/>The sun has truly set now and it is difficult to see Nicolo’s face in the dark. His grip on his knees is tight, knuckles almost white with the grip, “<strong>What God would sanction this? Why was no one condemned? Why am I still-</strong>“<br/>Nicolo’s voice had grown hoarser with each word, and it breaks, leaving the sentence unfinished. His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows.<br/>His voice is quiet again, “<strong>I can only hope I will find clarity when it is my time is done, when my due is paid. The only thing left to do is to pray and repent.</strong>” He sighs and finishes quietly, “<strong>Perhaps then this punishment will end.</strong>”</p><p>Silence falls.<br/>There is noise coming up from the streets below, rising like water vapour. It is a warm background sound, a pleasant distraction from the oppressive nature of Nicolo’s speech. </p><p>They sit in it, the truth.</p><p>It is truly weird to consider the Genoan a man of the cloth. Dressed in simple black robes, pledging himself to God and abstaining from most of everything else. Yusuf knew that God’s “wish to free Jerusalem” was the reason given for the pillaging masses of Franks arriving in the Levant. But it is different to hear that it was so strongly believed. That Nicolo had believed it.</p><p> </p><p>“<strong>Your guilt will not help,</strong>” Yusuf says and Nicolo turns to look at him, perhaps surprised at receiving any reply at all. “<strong>The guilt you feel, it is only for yourself. It does nothing to sit in it.</strong>”<br/>He finds Nicolo’s pale eyes in the dark, “<strong>What will you do with it?</strong>”</p><p>This time the other man stays silent. But Nicolo lets his legs drop to stretch out in front of him, drops his hands from his knees, folds them loosely in his lap.</p><p>He nods and they stay on the roof, sitting in companionable silence until late into the night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>heyyyy everyoooone, thiiis is a bit later than i would've liked, but here you go!<br/>I'm still not 100% happy with it, but I have called this a slow-burn so I'm going to have to stick to it. Hopefully the small hints will tide y'all over ;) </p><p>as always, let me know what you think, i crave the validation, even if you just spam emojis! </p><p> </p><p>stay safe everyone!! 💛☀️🌻</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Luxor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>aaah heeere we go! A bit laaaate, but a bit longer as well, so I hope that makes up for it :D It is time to slowly get into the pining part of the story! </p><p>Special thanks to @lgbtmazight over on tumblr who really helped me out with the food-advice! Definitely going to include more dishes from here on out</p><p> </p><p>Italics are for Arabic and Bold is for Ligurian :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is difficult to believe it has been a month.</p><p>Time does not flash by quicker since being… undying. Yusuf would have expected the years to blend, and they had definitely started to. It had become difficult to gage how much time had passed. Five years seemed like five days, and he could not bring himself to particularly care.<br/>
At some point Yusuf had realised how odd his lack of ageing must seem, and he begun to colour his beard and hair white with limestone. He adapted his mannerisms in the hope of reflecting a higher age. But before long, he had to give up the charade and moved to the north, moved east, moved west, replaying the same game, until moving back south again.</p><p>But now Nicolo had joined him, and the things which had occurred in the past month could easily fill a year. It was good to have found a friend, a companion to share the endless time with, to be able to speak honestly of history and motivation, fears and concerns.<br/>
And it is easier to work when someone knows your secret. Yusuf is glad about the new start, to be able to craft a new backstory and not have it questioned by someone who might doubt its truth. They were simply Yusuf and Nicolas here, two traders from the north, who had fled the increasing conflict with the growing number of Franks. Yusuf had thought it wise to call Nicolo Greek, even though the Genoan only spoke a few words of the language. Thankfully his Arabic had become passable enough to not have to make anyone resort to speaking Greek instead.</p><p> </p><p>The work for Mahmoud is good. Great even. He introduces them to his sons, and they are kind and hardworking, easy to share a laugh and a meal with. While one son returns to his studies, working for a magistrate, Yusuf becomes close friends with the elder son, Zubeir, who remains. He is a wall of a man, tall and broad, with warm eyes and an easy demeanour. He handles most of the everyday transactions, the shipping schedules, the purchase orders, and the general supply of wares to the store.</p><p>Yusuf knowledge and experience in the merchant business is easily recognised and valued, and Nicolo shows himself to be talented with the ships, nimble with the way he manoeuvres around the boat, tying and re-tying the sailor’s knots. The captains had noticed it as well, with one taking care to teach Nicolo the specific nautical terms for everything the Genoan already more-or-less knew how to do. Abdallah is tall and spindly, and a very serious man. If he was not supplying vocabulary terms, he gave short and clear commands, and the occasional satisfied nod.</p><p>When Yusuf asks Nicolo how he can tell one knot from another, he simply answers, “<em>I used to fish</em>,” and helps Abdallah dock the ship by directing him from the pier. Yusuf can tell that there is more to it, that Nicolo is simply giving a short answer. It will have to wait.</p><p> </p><p>They spend most of their time down at the docks, unloading and reloading the ships with a small crew, Yusuf occasionally making deliveries while Nicolo is half a sailor, spending most of his time solely on the ship. Mahmoud checks on them occasionally, to see how they are getting along with the work and the rest of his employees.<br/>

He takes Yusuf aside after three weeks. Nicolo is standing not far off, reviewing the inventory with the ship’s first mate; an older man named Karim who is a good head shorter than Nicolo but twice as wide. They have their heads stuck together over the clay tablet and Nicolo nods at Karim’s instructions.</p><p>“Yusuf, I am so glad that God has brought you and Nicolas to my door,” Mahmoud smiles, gripping Yusuf warmly by the arm, “truly, it has been a blessing.”<br/>
Yusuf simply has to smile back, “Believe me brother, it has been my blessing. I do not know if Nicolas and I could have found anyone better in Cairo.”<br/>
“I am so glad to hear it!” Mahmoud says, and he beckons Yusuf to come a bit closer.</p><p><br/>
“I must ask you; I will be sending a ship down to Luxor in a few days time. It will require extra protection, and a bit of caution when delivering the wares in Luxor itself. Would you feel prepared, to accompany the ship?” He nods over to the docs, “You and Nicolas, of course. You have verily gained my trust these past few weeks.”<br/>
“Of course,” Yusuf says, already nodding as well, “I would be glad to accompany the ship. I will of course have to ask my friend about his thoughts, but I would be surprised if he declines.”<br/>
Mahmoud claps his hands together, looking ecstatic, “Wonderful! Ah, this truly fills me with happiness. Zubeir is otherwise engaged and it is a relief to know you will keep an eye on things. I will let Abdallah know!”</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf asks Nicolo about Mahmoud’s proposal when they sit down for supper that evening. Their work has provided them with enough coin to rent a place of their own, not far from the inn. The landlady had been so kind as to leave them the old house of her sister; a childless widow who had passed away a few years ago. The sister had kept a small household which was more than large enough for the two men. Two rooms, a kitchen, a small living room, and of course access to the roof.</p><p>“<em>We would leave next week,</em>” Yusuf explains, and spoons the chickpea stew he has made into the two bowls Nicolo holds out for him. “<em>It is a transport of spices down to Luxor, and we will load up limestone from a quarry on the way back. I think Mahmoud was waiting until now to see if we were trustworthy.</em>”<br/>
Nicolo nods and moves over to the small, low table, setting down the bowls and sits down crosslegged. He waits for Yusuf to sit across from him.<br/>
“<em>I am for it,</em>” Nicolo says, and tears the flatbread they had bought at the market in half, handing one piece to Yusuf, “<em>it will be interesting to see Luxor. And I enjoy the work on the ship.”</em><br/>
He dips his own bread into his stew. Chewing carefully, he adds, “<em>I think we could be of help</em>.”<br/>
“<em>On the boats?</em>” Yusuf asks.<br/>
Nicolo nods, “<em>It will be dangerous, no? And we are.. safe?</em>”</p><p>It is true enough. Mahmoud had warned them of bandits and crocodiles, apparently both having injured crewmen and sunk ships before. The merchant had shaken his head in concern, “You should know what expects you on the journey. But Zubeir tells me you have experience with the sword; I would feel better if I had someone practiced among the young whippersnappers and old sailors.”</p><p>“<em>You are right,</em>” Yusuf says between two spoonfuls of hot food, “<em>I am sure we have no reason to worry.</em>”<br/>
Nicolo presses his lips together, seemingly lost in thought.<br/>
“<em>That is not what I mean,</em>” he says after a moment. “<em>Karim said the last shipment had been delayed. Or damaged, I am not sure</em>.”<br/>
He winces and gestures with both hands. He is still holding his spoon in his right, and the movement drops sauce onto the table but Nicolo does not notice, “<em>His …</em> <em>ah … way of speaking-</em>?”<br/>
“<em>Dialect,</em>” Yusuf supplies.<br/>
“<em>Dialect! Is odd,</em>” Nicolo adds, as a sort of explanation.<br/>
“<em>But, want I mean to say is… if there will be trouble. We will be fine. Instead of someone else?</em>”<br/>
He sighs, is frustrated with the language, with the words he lacks to say what he means. “<strong>Do you know what I mean?</strong>”<br/>
Yusuf nods slowly, realising where Nicolo is heading, “Y<em>ou mean, we would be better equipped to make sure nothing happens, because there would not be consequences for us?</em>”<br/>
Nicolo nods vigorously, chews and swallows. He opens his mouth, pauses, closes it again with a click.<br/>
“<strong>What else?</strong>”<br/>
But Nicolo shakes his head. “<strong>We will see how it goes,</strong>” he says, and turns to his bowl.</p><p> </p><p>A few days later the crew meets early at the docks. The sun has not yet risen, but they load up the ship by the light of lanterns and they all know the layout of the boat well enough to do so without tripping. Karim scurries through the crates of cargo and sacks of salt, nimble despite his size, and gives precise directions as to how to stack and organise all the wares. He double checks everything with Zubeir, who keeps yawning behind his hand, and Abdallah, who seems to possess the same professional air no-matter the time of day.</p><p>The journey down the Nile takes a while but bears no larger complications. A few times crocodiles do lazily block their path, but they require just a few pokes to be convinced to move back toward the shallow banks of the Nile.<br/>
They dock in Luxor on the forth day, late in the evening. The crew unloads the larger items into the appropriate warehouse by the harbour, and leave the rest for the next morning. Yusuf does appreciate being able to spend one night on solid ground, the sack of straw underneath him is heaven compared to the swinging hammock they resort to on the boat. He wakes slow and confused when Nicolo shakes him awake in the early morning. It is entirely unfair how awake the other man is, bright-eyed and alert, excited to see a bit more of the city.<br/>
Absolutely ridiculous.</p><p>Abdallah and Karim organise the more special deliveries throughout the city, coordinating with one of Mahmoud’s brothers who seems to lead the business in Luxor. A few wares require a bit more guarding on the way to their new owners, so Yusuf accompanies Mahmoud’s brother while Nicolo remains with Karim. They finish in the late afternoon, and thankfully have a few hours to walk through Luxor.</p><p> </p><p>The city is smaller than Cairo, surely, but its position by the river has made it a hub of trade. The city almost only consists of a plethora of stores, stands, inns and warehouses. There are merchants, women, children, and scoundrels offering everything and anything. Spices, furs, weapons, swords and saifs and daggers; jewellery, vases and dishes and cutlery.<br/>
The sun has not yet sunk and they have arrived just in time for the dinner rush. There is food and drink from every part of the continent, and when Yusuf lays his eyes on a stand serving kamounia he stops so abruptly that Nicolo runs into his back.<br/>
It smells so similar to how his mother used to make it, and the olfactory experience is almost enough to transport him nearly 150 years back in time.</p><p>He already has his purse in hand, buys two portions from the elderly woman behind the stall and presses a bowl and a bread into Nicolo’s hands.<br/>
“<em>Try this!</em>” Yusuf basically vibrates, and Nicolo smiles, takes the bowl and the bread curiously. They sit down by a well, in the shade and Nicolo watches with mounting amusement how Yusuf almost inhales his food, and goes back to pay both his compliments to the chef, and for another portion.<br/>
He savours this one more, tries to identify the separate flavours on his tongue. The cumin is obvious enough, the garlic as well, but that is not enough. He could slap himself for not paying closer attention to his mother’s cooking, for not being able to recall her exact mixture of spices, how long she had let the meat simmer.<br/>
All too soon Yusuf’s spoon scrapes against the pottery of the empty bowl. He feels incredibly nostalgic and incredibly foolish. Grief gnaws at his full stomach, and the food he had enjoyed so much not two moments ago now lies like a stone in his stomach. His mother, his father is dead. His uncles, aunts, his siblings too and their children and children’s children likely as well. There is no one left who would remember him, no one left to remember the way his mother would cook her kamounia.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>It is very good,</em>” Nicolo rips him from his reverie, and he too is holding an empty bowl. Yusuf nods, and swallows the lump in his throat, keeps his eyes on the bustling of the market around them.<br/>
“<em>It is how my mother used to make it.</em>”<br/>
“<em>Oh?</em>” Nicolo asks, surprised, tone light.<br/>
Yusuf nods. “<em>I do not know how she used to make it though.</em>”<br/>
Nicolo turns to look at the masses passing by, finds the stall easily enough.<br/>
“<em>Why do you not ask the woman?</em>”<br/>
Yusuf hesitates.<br/>
“<em>You think I should?</em>” he voices his concern, “<em>I am not sure. What if she won’t tell me? What if I cannot make it the same?</em>”<br/>
Nicolo puts a hand on his lower arm, gives it a shake, “<em>Yusuf, just ask. The worst she can do is deny you.</em>”<br/>
“<em>Mm.</em>”<br/>
Nicolo stands up and hands Yusuf his empty bowl, “<em>Come on. Give her the bowls and ask. You are charming enough, it will work.</em>”<br/>
Yusuf has to grin, and takes hold of the hand Nicolo offers him, letting him pull him up and upright.<br/>
“<em>Only charming enough?</em>” Yusuf teases. “<em>I would say I am very charming.</em>”<br/>
Nicolo exhales but it is a laugh. “<strong>Do not exaggerate.</strong> <em>I will go back to the ship.</em>”<br/>
“<em>Will you find your way back on your own?</em>”<br/>
Nicolo nods, waving a hand as if to swat away the ridiculous question, and turns around with a wave over his shoulder.</p><p>The old woman is first suspicious at Yusuf’s request, but her face grows soft as he explains his predicament. She waves him to the side, lets her son take over the stand and takes her time explaining her recipe to Yusuf, who tries to brand every step into the forefront of his mind. Only when he repeats it perfectly is she satisfied, nods, and tells him that she would be here if he needs any reminders.<br/>
Yusuf bids her goodbye with more than one bow and words of thanks to her kindness, until she puts an end to his hymns of praise, shoos him away, a bit wryly but with a smile nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf walks back to the harbour with a spring in his step, repeating the instructions in his head again and again. Oh, he will find everything he needs in Cairo, but he might need to purchase a better pot. He finds something suitable one street over, haggles until he’s satisfied with the price and almost jumps out of his skin when a hand lands on his shoulder.</p><p>Nicolo laughs at his expression, and waits until Yusuf has paid the agreed-upon price, waves him over to where he is standing in the shade of a tall building.</p><p>“<em>Look!</em>” Nicolo smiles, quirking the right corner of his mouth upwards. He is holding a small bag and looks incredibly conspiratorial. “<em>I found these,</em>” he says and opens the bag to reveal a hand-full of dried figs.<br/>
He looks up at Yusuf, head still bent and but eyes turned upward, looking at him through his lashes. He notices Yusuf’s silence, mostly due to surprise, and immediately turns worried. He looks into the bag.</p><p>“<strong>I thought you had expressed liking them in previous conversation,</strong>” he grimaces in Ligurian, then switches to Arabic, “<em>Do you not like figs?</em>”<br/>
“<em>No! No, Nicolo,</em>” Yusuf doesn’t know why he feels the need to explicitly use his friend’s name, except for the burning urge to wipe the confused hurt off his face, “<em>I do like dried figs.</em>”<br/>
“<em>Are these bad?</em>” Nicolo asks, eying the fruit even more suspiciously, wrinkling his nose in an effort to sniff out the mistake.<br/>
“<em>No, noo!</em>” Yusuf shakes his head, forcefully, “<em>They look great.</em>”<br/>
Nicolo looks at him quizzically, but after apparently not finding a reason on Yusuf’s face to distrust the statement, nods, and hands him the bag. “<em>Well, here.</em>”<br/>
Yusuf takes it, more out of reflex than anything else, “<em>Do you not want them?</em>”<br/>
Nicolo shakes his head, and he must have over-exerted himself walking over in the evening heat, his face is flushed pink, <em>“No, I saw them at the market and thought you would enjoy them more than I.</em>”</p><p>He nods, seemingly satisfied, and moves to follow the street down to the harbour.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf is left behind, a bit befuddled, clutching the small burlap sack.</p><p>This is new. They usually buy food together, take their turns, and both share. Like they had for dinner. And Yusuf has the more prominent sweet tooth, but he knows that Nicolo likes figs as well.</p><p>He jogs to catch-up with him. It is easy enough; Nicolo is always easy to distinguish in a crowd with that pale hair. It has grown a tad longer again, brushing his shoulders, and he keeps pushing it out of his face while they work.<br/>
But even without the hair it is almost too easy to recognise Nicolo. It is like Yusuf has been so used to searching for the man on the battlefield that his eyes always find him first. His ears are attuned to the other man’s voice, and Yusuf tends to know when it is Nicolo who approaches him when his back is turned. He has such a soft gait, all fluid movement and pillowy footsteps. Yusuf can also see it now with the way Nicolo walks down the street, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a dancer. Well, he is all long, toned limbs, so the figure would match the comparison.</p><p>Yusuf stumbles a bit at the thought, rips his eyes away from where he had been not staring at, only observing, Nicolo’s … lower back. He has caught-up with him anyway and they have almost reached the harbour.<br/>
Sure, Yusuf had been aware that his sworn-enemy-now-friend was not the ugliest person to look at, was surely not misshapen in any way. But these are not the thoughts to have about a foreign, formerly hostile, former priest. So it is best to look at Nicolo’s face (which is admittedly also not ugly, especially now that Yusuf had been able to convince him of the benefits of scented soap), see the puzzled look his friend gives him, and clap him on the back.</p><p>“<em>I will be grateful to not have to hide these from you,</em>” Yusuf laughs, and tries to ignore how the curl of Nicolo’s pink lips does not tug at his heart.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahh Yusuf being confused over figs is definitely my fave part of this chaaaapter </p><p>Hope you have enjoyed it so faaar, let me know what you think in the comments :D (also when you find any typos/inconsistensies!) </p><p>And again thanks to @lgbtmazight, you can find her post over heeere: https://lgbtmazight.tumblr.com/post/629361719474618369/hey-hoo-hope-youre-doing-weeell-i-would-have-a </p><p> </p><p>hope everyone is doing well, stay safe!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Death</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(uhh ominous title is ominous)</p><p>my chapters keeeeeep getting longer, so sorry for the wait guys! Hope a bit of action can make it up to you :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next morning comes all too soon. Yusuf finds himself again awoken by Nicolo, who jostles his shoulder the slightest amount, and somehow still succeeds in rousing him from sleep. His slight smile is not the worst thing to wake up to, but Yusuf is still slow to wake, yawns thoroughly and when he opens his eyes again, barely conscious, Nicolo is simply looking at him with an expression of pure fondness, entirely too awake.<br/>The tugging at his heart is back.</p><p>They set out early in the morning, with the rocking of the ship once more underneath their feet. It is only a half-days ride until they reach the quarry. Until then, everyone is more-or-less dozing on the upper deck. The sun is warm and the air is thick, and it is not too difficult to fall back into sleep, to only rise when a sail needs to be readjusted. The flow of the river does most of the work anyway, and it's a relaxing ride until then.</p><p>It is a very large quarry, and the foreman already has their order prepared when they dock the ship. The crew reloads the boat with the shipment of limestone, and it takes them until the sun has long passed its zenith in the sky up above to have everything safely secured. The blocks are large, cubes of two feet times two feet times two feet, and they take a while to handle everything into the cargo hold with the help of the dock’s pulleys and levers. Karim is acutely aware of the ship’s exact measurements and directs them all to the right positions, making the most of the limited space.<br/>The foreman brings them lunch when they’ve finished and they set off again.</p><p> </p><p>Trouble finds them in the early evening.<br/>The river is slow and stead and it is not difficult to follow its flow. Yusuf is standing at the helm with Nicolo, enjoying the breeze in his face and the last rays of the sun. Nicolo is mirroring the smile on his face, face turned to the sunset, blinks long and slow and keeps them closed with a content sigh. The orange light makes his lashes almost gold.<br/>But then he cracks an eye open and nudges Yusuf out of his staring, calling his attention to a small shipping vessel, no bigger than a walnut shell, drifting ahead to their right.</p><p>A man is standing up in the boat, balancing carefully and waving his arms wildly, pointing at the river bank. Nicolo is quick to react, scurries to grab hold of Abdallah, who looks out at the boat and motions for Ahmad at the rudder to turn to the riverbank. This way they can have a closer look, dock at the riverbank and shield the small vessel from oncoming ships.</p><p>The Nile is calm here, broad and gentle, and it is easy to throw an anchor and lay out a gangplank onto the grassy shore. Yusuf follows Nicolo to the middle of the ship, where Karim has secured the gangplank. Yusuf stays a bit behind, keeping an eye out. What has happened? Surely nothing too tragic. Yusuf hopes they will not have to go diving for someone who had been pulled down by a crocodile.<br/>The men from the smaller boat row to land and scuttle onto it with surprising speed. In hindsight this should have been an early indicator of something being not quite right.</p><p>The man who had waved rushes up the gangplank and stands in front of them so suddenly that he might as well have grown from the ship like a tree.<br/>“Do you hail from Cairo?” he asks and he is almost as broad as the comparison, short and stocky like an old olive tree.<br/>“Yes?” answers Karim and wrinkles his brow, confused, “Who-?”<br/>“Marvellous!” announces the man, interrupting Karim and with a slice of the sword that he must have kept behind his back, fells the first mate and quartermaster as if he were nothing more than a sapling in his way.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf hears Nicolo inhale to his left, and when Yusuf looks over he sees his friend stand stock-still, staring in shock at Karim, who is gurgling his last words through a slit throat. It is such a wrong image, how he is lying in a puddle of red in this lazy, humid evening. The diffuse warm light should not be illuminating such a tragic scene.</p><p>The murderer raises a hand and the group of men from the boat, nine or ten in number, crawls like locusts onto the ship, faces hidden under wraps of cloth.</p><p>“Do not move,” their leader addresses the crew and swipes a rag across his sword as if he weren’t wiping down the blood of an innocent. Most of his men have their swords drawn as well, the blades gleaming in the low light. They scatter across the vessel, scurrying to both the bow and stern of the ship, to man the rudder and the stern of the ship. Two men rush down the steps to disappear in the cargo hold below. They pass by Nicolo first, then Yusuf, their footsteps heavy but quick. Nicolo’s jaw clenches tight.</p><p>The air has grown tense, the crew standing wary. Yusuf can see one of the younger boys, Omar, staring at Karim’s lifeless body. He does not blink, does not seem to be able to break his eyes away, and Yusuf can see him tremble. They had just celebrated his birthday last week. He should not yet be 20.</p><p>The two men are back soon enough. The first runs up to the man at the gangplank, clutching the thick charter-book that usually lay down with the cargo, in the small quartermaster’s office. The second man eyes Yusuf a bit warily, and settles between Nicolo and him, while his comrade hands their apparent ringleader the heavy book.<br/>A gleeful grin finds its way onto the man’s face as he flips through the pages. He apparently finds what he is looking for, scans the writing and claps the book shut again.</p><p>“What now?” the man who had brought the book murmurs the question to his leader who simply waves a hand, handing him back the charter-book.<br/>“Take this back to the ship. We’ll sink them and be done with it.”</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo must have heard it as well; his jaw clenches even tighter, the tendons in his neck straining as he moves his head a minuscule amount. His eyes find Yusuf’s and flick to his left. It’s a sword, left over from the last-nights guard, it has slipped between two sacks of straw. Nicolo’s eyes flick back and he raises both eyebrows at Yusuf, glances back over to where the two men are not 10 paces away. Yusuf thinks he knows what his friend is planning.</p><p>There are only nine men left on board; two by the gangplank, one a bit closer to Nicolo, another two near the rudder and the last four keeping an eye on the crew. Their captain is trying to keep everyone calm, but nobody else is armed, and if they act now they will need to act fast.</p><p>“This will not stand!” Yusuf shouts, startling almost everyone. The thug standing closer to Nicolo turns his attention to Yusuf, moves his feet and turns his back. He is holding a sword, but not doing anything with it yet.<br/>The ringleader laughs, derisively.<br/>“Oh really?” he smiles, “will it not? I believe it already has.”<br/>Yusuf knows it is a bit risky, but sidesteps, so that the two men at the gangplank also need to turn their heads to follow his movement.<br/>“How dare you kill an innocent man!” he thunders. It is not difficult to find the words, the anger to fuel them while the grief has not yet set in. “To steal him away from friends and family in such a way. Callous and cruel,” he almost spits the words, “Punishment will find you one way or another, that I can attest you my friend!”</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye Yusuf had seen how Nicolo was inching, with minuscule movements, to the two sacks by his side. Then he shifts, grabs the sword and moves. The man who had turned to face Yusuf is already dead when Nicolo turns, hands Yusuf the dead man’s saif and moves on to the next. Now finally armed, Yusuf moves as well and the scene explodes.<br/>They have the advantage of surprise, the bandits more or less blindsided by the sudden action, by Nicolo coming at them like a pale phantom. The man is a whirlwind, moving agile between the masts and their cargo.<br/>Yusuf hears a shout and steps between an enemy and a friend, feels how the sword slices into his side, feels the familiar burn but then it begins to heal as it always does. A thrust forward, and the bandit falls and Yusuf turns to see that is is Omar who he had saved from a rather fatal encounter. The boy looks at him with wide eyes.<br/>“Hide,” Yusuf hisses and Omar does as he is told.</p><p>Yusuf turns back to the fray and just gets his sword up fast enough to deflect the blade of another enemy, parries, and falls into the familiar movement with ease. The man pulls the captain in front of him, but Abdallah seems to have some experience as well, side-steps and drops into a crouch to let Yusuf knock the hilt of his sword into the thug’s face. He falls like a sack of sand.</p><p>There are only three men left, the leader and his second at the gangplank and the man at the rudder, who seems to be completely confused as to what to do. Abdallah sees him as well and picks up the unconscious man’s weapon.<br/>“I’ll take care of him,” he breathes, nodding at the confused bandit, and Yusuf turns to the men at the gangplank.</p><p>The head of this group of thugs has remained at the front of the ramp, a coward, keeping the option of fleeing open. His second-in-command is beside him, still clutching the charter-book under one arm, and has his sword in the other. He does not really have a chance to do much. He blocks the first strike of Nicolo’s blade, but not the second.<br/>Nicolo advances but is not familiar with the saif, miscalculates its weight, too used to his longsword. He fumbles, swings too wide and Yusuf just sees how the ringleader takes advantage of Nicolo’s mistake. He takes his sword, still red with the blood of another and rams it through his friend’s stomach.<br/>Nicolo pauses, stunned, and the other man grips the sword stuck in Nicolo’s front with both hands and rips it upwards, cutting up Nicolo’s chest in a jagged rift that Yusuf swears he can hear, and pushes his body overboard.<br/>“Retreat!” the man yells and he rips the charter-book from the dead hands of his second-in-command, and the men who have been left standing scurry back over the ramp to disappear over the riverbank, leaving their boat behind.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf feels as if his heart has fallen into his stomach. He can hear the blood rush in his ears, feels how his legs somehow carry him to the railing. His eyes search the river, dart around the moving water, and for every second in which he does not see his friend resurface, his chest grows colder.</p><p>The waves remain unbroken.<br/>The men are shouting behind him, but Yusuf runs down the gangplank and slips into the Nile. The river is not deep here, but the water is murky and with each step he sinks into the silt.</p><p>“Nicolo!” he shouts, and of course there is no reply, but it’s the only thing Yusuf can think to do to calm the rushing in his stomach.<br/>His mind is blank as he wades through the river. Something strifes his ankle and his heart jumps into his throat. He grabs into the murky depths - there! He feels something soft and rips it up from the waves.</p><p>The body is nearly cleft in two. Nicolo’s head rolls back, eyes wide-open and starring, unseeing, straight ahead: their familiar pale green is almost the colour of the Nile. Long hair is plastered wet to his cheek, the rest dripping water back into the river.<br/>“Nicolo,” Yusuf croaks, his voice hoarse. The man does not stir, and does not breathe.<br/>Yusuf has to move, has to do something. He pulls his friend up, grabs him under his arms from the back so that he does not need to look into those unseeing eyes. He pulls him onto the riverbank, stepping carefully through the Nile, lays him out on the lush grass. The green makes the carnage, the viscera of the wound stand out harsher than the murky river water. It is all dark red meat, entrails leaking and Yusuf has to concentrate on not loosing the stomach acid that is nipping at the back of his throat. He looks away for just a second, has to somehow calm his racing heart.</p><p>He thinks he hears the waves the boat behind him is pushing against the shore, almost does not catch the sound over the rushing of blood in his ears and the shouts of the men back on deck.<br/>It is a cough and then he looks down to see Nicolo blink, and gape, breath rattling in his chest that is slowly weaving itself back together again. His eyes dart around, pupils mere pinpricks. They settle on Yusuf, and immediately some of the panic fades, and Nicolo coughs another bloody breath.</p><p>“Yus-“ he tries but it dies in his throat. He chokes and coughs, hacks up blood and river-water and catches his breath again.<br/>“<em>Shh, Nicolo, be still, be still,</em>” Yusuf says, husky, but thankfully his voice has lost some of its hoarseness, “<em>breathe.</em>”<br/>Nicolo does not take his eyes of Yusuf, they practically bore themselves into the other man’s. His hand jerks and finds Yusuf’s in the grass, squeezes it tight.<br/>Yusuf finds himself babbling, the words spewing from him as if he were the one leaking river-water, “<em>Come, do not worry, you are fine, you are fine, just breathe, come breathe with me. In… and out … in.</em>” Yusuf times his breaths to match his friend’s. Then he looks down to see Nicolo healing, (“<em>that is it, do not worry, it will be fine</em>”) skin re-knitting and organs realigning (“<em>nice and slow, it will be fine, it will be fine, just breathe</em>”) and Yusuf’s heart calms a bit.<br/>Nicolo sees him looking.<br/>“<em>Give me a moment,</em>” he says, and smiles. His teeth are bloody but it is the prettiest thing Yusuf has ever seen.</p><p> </p><p>The ship will reach Cairo by the morning, to deliver the apparently incredibly valuable cargo. But that will be tomorrow, and they have decided to dock by the shore for the night.</p><p>Yusuf and Nicolo offered to take the first watch, and no one had complained. Nicolo had to refute, multiple times, that he was gravely insured, <em>really I just fell overboard, the man was terrible with the sword</em>. But in the chaos of the fight nobody had been able to pay close attention to his death.</p><p>Now they sit and keep their vigil with swords beside them, gazing up at the bright, night sky, where a million stars dot the dark navy firmament. They remain close, and Yusuf cannot help himself from glancing over at his friend every few seconds.<br/>Just to make sure.<br/>He cannot deny the reason for his nervousness, why he cannot keep himself himself from checking on Nicolo as soon as three moments pass. He almost glows in the moonlight, and Yusuf can feel the warmth that is emanating from where their legs lie close. Nicolo is looking up at the stars, his face in profile. The light reflects off his cheekbones and the curve of his nose, and when he turns to look at Yusuf his eyes do the same.<br/>God, how those eyes had once haunted him. Their pale colour never seemed to remain the same. They had been the embodiment of this invading foreigner, cold eyes with no hint of mercy or empathy. But the eyes that look at him now are different.</p><p>“<strong>I do not think I have thanked you yet,</strong>” Nicolo suddenly says, chooses his mothertongue and his voice is as soft has his eyes.<br/>The pounding of Yusuf’s heart picks up.<br/>“<strong>Oh?</strong>” he tries to joke, “<strong>For not letting you remain in the river?</strong>”<br/>Nicolo smiles, glances away, “<strong>I had more enjoyable swims, that is certain. But no.</strong>” He turns his head and looks at Yusuf properly, and switches language, “<em>Thank you, Yusuf. Truly. I am glad you were there when I</em>,” he pauses, “<em>came back.</em>”</p><p><br/>His tongue darts out and licks his lower lip, a gesture which usually announces that he wants to say something more. Yusuf turns out to be right. It is always best to remain patient even though that is not a trait that comes easily to him.</p><p><br/>“<em>I have died that way before,</em>” Nicolo explains, “<em>in one battle or another. I do not recall.</em>”<br/>He looks at Yusuf, open and sad and places a warm hand on Yusuf’s shoulder. His gaze is incredibly soft, eyebrows drawn into a slight frown but lips pulled upwards. He smiles and Yusuf’s heart swells and he knows he has encountered a problem.<br/>“<em>I preferred today.</em>”</p><p>The pounding in his chest is back. The fight had left Yusuf a bit rattled, the scene so familiar in its sequence but so different in its composition. Sure, he knew their time as enemies had passed, had decided that it will be so. But a part of his mind had faltered somewhere, watching Nicolo slay the men in his path with the knowledge that the man was doing it to protect him, that he was slaying Yusuf’s enemies as well. He had not watched Nicolo’s back to know the correct time to strike, but to keep it free, safe, unharmed. And then it had not been kept that way. It is easy to rationalise the attraction he can no longer deny. It is more difficult to figure out what to do with it.</p><p>And here in the dark all of this is both easy and difficult to voice.</p><p>“Y<em>ou need not worry</em>,” Yusuf hears himself say, his thoughts once again sprouting out of him unwillingly, demanding to be voiced, and he places a hand on Nicolo’s. It is as warm as it feels on his shoulder.<br/>“<em>You will not need to worry where death will find and then leave you again. While our time does not yet come, I promise you, you do not need to leave or come back alone. I will follow you and we will go together, my friend.</em>”<br/>The endearment slips out before Yusuf can stop it. But before he can worry how Nicolo will react, a smile breaks out across the other man’s face, blindingly bright.<br/>Nicolo nods and slips back into Ligurian, “<strong>Yes. I will do the same.</strong>”<br/>He squeezes Yusuf’s shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>Oh he really has a problem.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(yes hello, run-along-sentence-that-goes-on-for-five-lines? it's me Jo!) </p><p> </p><p>hey heyyy my dudes, heeere we go with Chapter 5! I am not comPLETELY happy with it, so if anyone re-reads it it might be a bit different if I end up editing anything. :) I've tried to write Yusuf as accurately as I can but am NoWHeRe near as poetic as he iiiis, so take my best try! </p><p>Let me know what you think! Your kudos and comments mean the woooorld to me (srsly you are all so sweeet!!)</p><p>and once again, stay safe and healthy out there! ☀️💛</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Foreigners</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>soooo much internal monologue in this one guys! Tried to make it as realistic as possible, hope it didn’t turn out too ooc </p><p>and last thing: i tried something a bit different with the spacing - a friend mentioned the tight spacing was a bit difficult to read. Let me know if this is prefeeerrable :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yusuf is surprised that Nicolo is not immediately gone the first time he hears his mother tongue.</p><p> </p><p>The rest of the journey back to Cairo had been a thankfully uneventful, but very somber affair.</p><p>They had wrapped Karim in large swathes of cloth and placed him in the low cargo hold below. Nicolo had been truly melancholic. He had worked closed with the experienced quartermaster, they were good friends it seems.</p><p>When Abdallah had called everyone back up to the deck, Nicolo had stayed behind, quickly murmured a prayer, with hands clasped tightly and head bowed.</p><p> </p><p>Zubeir is standing at the harbour docks when they arrive, to welcome them back, and his face quickly falls when Abdallah reports what has occurred. He comes on board and helps carry out the wrapped body. No one speaks a word, as they move Karim back onto land, place him in the offices by the pier. Omar, who Yusuf had been able to save from a premature death is sent to alert Karim’s family, and Zubeir and Abdallah leave to discuss the events of the journey.</p><p>The rest of the crew starts to unload the large limestone blocks. Someone leaves to get food and drink when they have finished, and everyone remains quiet, sitting in close groups on the cobblestone docks, waiting for the captain to return and release them for the day. There is not much talking.</p><p>The whole situation seems unrealistic. Death was something to be left on the battlefield, or in old houses surrounded by family. Not to be experienced like this, abrupt and unfair and unremarkable. What had it helped?</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf hears it before Nicolo, which is a surprise in and of itself; the loud, foreign language with its open vowels, and wavy intonation carries across the docks. But he sees from Nicolo’s reaction the exact moment he hears it too.</p><p>His eyebrows jump up and he turns around so fast that Yusuf is afraid his friend will have pulled a muscle. Nicolo looks at the group of men that are standing not 20 steps way. They are young, relatively, just three of them, but a fourth appears at the railing of the docked ship they are standing at. The man is definitely older, in his 50s Yusuf would guess.</p><p>“<b>Get back here in an hour, you three! No messing around!</b>” he shouts, and the three men agree, laughing and complaining at the slavedriver - “<b>Friends, I am starving, let’s go-</b>“</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo watches them leave, eyes careful and focussed. When the men have turned a corner, Nicolo turns to the ship, eyes the flag atop the mast, stays stone-still for a moment before turning back around, fiddling with his hands. He must feel Yusuf’s eyes on him because he looks back up.</p><p>He raises an eyebrow in question.</p><p>“<em>Did you not hear it?</em>” Yusuf asks even though he knows the answer, “<em>were those not your fellow countrymen? From Genoa?</em>”</p><p>Nicolo honestly jumps at the word.</p><p>“<em>Yes, yes,</em>” he nods, but offers nothing more, glances around at the others. He turns back to his bread, starts ripping off tiny pieces and slipping them into his mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf expected a bit more excitement.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Are you not interested?</em>” he probes, watching Nicolo’s face, “<em>Do you not want to know what they are doing here?</em>” </p><p>His friend presses his lips together tightly.</p><p>“<em>Not necessarily. I’m sure it is just some merchant ship or other</em>.”</p><p>He looks back up and this time his brows are pulled together in confused suspicion.</p><p>“<em>Why?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf shrugs and hopes he has not gone red.</p><p>He bites into his bread to have an excuse to hide his face, <em>“Just curious.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo looks at him a while longer but lets it go, turning to look out onto the sea and leaving Yusuf alone to his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yusuf knows that their time in Cairo will not last forever.</p><p>He knows that after a few years both of them would once more grow suspicious, remain un-ageing, that they would need to move on. But a part of his brain had posited exactly that, that they both would grow suspect and would need to move on together. He had not yet thought of the possibility that Nicolo would leave on his own, happy and (hopefully) thankful that Yusuf had accompanied him on his escape from the conflict, away from the fighting, but would remain simply that. Happy. Thankful. A suitable reaction for a friend helping another friend. But there would be no reason for them to stick together. Sure, some unnatural sort of fate had bound them, but that would not provide enough reason for them to stay together after the fact, no matter what type of promise Yusuf had made under the stars, under the cover of darkness.</p><p>It hits him right then and there, that there is nothing stopping Nicolo from getting up and joining those three men. The men who speak his language, who share his history, his religion, his homeland. He could get up, walk over, ask them when they are scheduled to set sail, and join them. Nicolo knows enough about boats to be of help, is hardworking and easy to get-along with, and has enough experience to be helpful to anyone who would need an extra pair of hands and a smart head.</p><p>The longer Yusuf thinks about it, the colder his stomach grows, and the stronger his heart starts to pound.</p><p>This is it.</p><p>It will be better: Nicolo will be able to go home, to leave the part of the continent which has only caused him grief, which has led him to his death so many times, will be able to leave the man who has killed him again and again.</p><p>Yes, yes, Nicolo will be able to leave. They will part ways, it will be for the best. He is just pretending to be disinterested, he is too kind as to go up to the foreign ship and ask for their departure date in front of Yusuf. That is something that Yusuf has had to accept, first grudgingly, and then with an increased amount of fondness; Nicolo is kind. He would not act in a way with which he would cause Yusuf any amount of discomfort. Not anymore.</p><p>Alright. What is to be done? It is important to get ahead of this development.</p><p>Yusuf is still thinking it over when Abdallah comes back, face solemn. He calls them all together and when the crew has found themselves arranged around their captain they are told that they can go home, return to their families and friends, more will be discussed tomorrow.</p><p>The men begin to leave, they say their goodbyes and grab their belongings. Abdallah calls Nicolo over and Yusuf sees his chance. The captain takes his friend back onto the ship to discuss something or another and Yusuf jogs over to the boat with the foreign flag at the end of the pier.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf is back at their landing spot three moments before Nicolo returns from the ship.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He waits until they have finished dinner and are cleaning their pots and pans. Thankfully the well they use is not far off, just behind the inn across the street.</p><p>Nicolo has his hands in the water, rinses everything first, then gets to work with the lye soap. It was insane to Yusuf how his friend had used it for his skin and hair as well but thankfully the block of soap had now been allocated to pure cleaning purposes.</p><p>Nicolo is humming something under his breath, lets most of the water drip from the bowl once he’s finished with it and hands it to Yusuf, who dries it with a rag. Their shoulders occasionally brush and it is nice, domestic even.</p><p>Might as well get the unpleasantness out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Do you recall the three men from this afternoon?</em>” Yusuf asks, wiping the droplets from the curve of the bowl.</p><p>The humming stops.</p><p>“<em>From… the harbour?</em>” Nicolo asks, enunciating very carefully. He continues with the washing, scrubs the soaked-fond out of the bottom of the pot.</p><p>“<em>Yes, exactly!</em>”</p><p>“Mm,” is the hum of agreement.</p><p> </p><p>This should not be so difficult.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>They were indeed from Genoa, can you imagine?</em>” Yusuf tries again, attempts to inject a sort of cheer into his voice but it sounds a bit strained, even to his ears. <em>“I spoke with their captain while you were talking to Abdallah. They are heading back in three days time.</em>”</p><p>The words come a bit too quick, but Yusuf cannot really stop himself, wants to get them out as quickly as possible, “<em>They will stop in Alexandria and make their way across Cyprus and Greece, but I am sure the journey would probably last no more than a month or two.</em>”</p><p>Beside him Nicolo has grown more tense with each word, has lowered the pot. A frown has found itself onto his face, and he looks confused, and worried.</p><p>“<em>I do not follow, Yusuf,</em>” he asks, slowly, and Yusuf’s heart flips at the mere sound of his name out of Nicolo’s mouth.</p><p>His friend turns to look over at him, and that does not help, “<em>I thought you liked the work here?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf sets aside the now dry bowl, leans against the counter, “<em>I do, I do!</em>” He throws the towel over his shoulder, “<em>It’s good work and I get along very well with everyone else.</em>”</p><p>The furrow between Nicolo’s eyebrows deepens.</p><p>“<em>Then why did you inquire after this boat’s journey?</em> <em>Do you want to leave Cairo?</em>” he asks, wants to turn back to the washing.</p><p>“<em>No, no I thought you could join them,</em>” Yusuf says, fiddling with the drying rag, “<em>I thought you could leave!</em>”</p><p>Nicolo goes rigid.</p><p>“<b>Me?</b>” he asks, shakes his head, confused. “<em>Why would I? I do not know these men?</em>“</p><p>“<em>Yes, but they are your countrymen are they not?</em>”</p><p>Nicolo huffs, “<em>Yes, sure, but what would that mean?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf does not know why this is so hard for his friend to understand, “<em>Nicolo, because they are your people! You should go home, you do not belong here.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo whips around to look at Yusuf completely confused. His hair has fallen into his face and the way he looks through the strands is eerily similar to how he has looked on the battle-field.</p><p>Yusuf hurries to correct himself, “<em>I mean would that not be better? If you left?</em>”</p><p>Nicolo looks at him as if Yusuf had physically slapped him. He shuts his mouth with a click. The shock wears off to reveal a look of affront and pure hurt. He clenches his jaw. “<em>I… suppose?”</em></p><p>A wave of relief washes over Yusuf, that his friend has finally understood, though something scratches at his throat when he says, “<em>Great! Ah, I am glad you understand.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>He starts drying another bowl, but Nicolo does not restart his washing. When Yusuf looks over he sees his friend still standing rigid, looking through the window.</p><p>“<em>What is wrong?</em>” Yusuf has to ask.</p><p>Nicolo breathes out through his nose, considers saying something, opens his mouth, but seemingly rethinks.</p><p>“<em>Why?</em>” he asks, “<em>Why would it be better?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf has to recall the previous flow in conversation to be able to understand what the other man is asking.</p><p>“<em>Why</em>?” he tries, “<em>Why not</em>?”</p><p>Nicolo is still staring out the window, moving his jaw in such a fashion that it seems like he is chewing on the words he is not voicing.</p><p>“<em>No, no. Give me a reason,” </em>Nicolo says, licks his lips and turns his head to look back at Yusuf.</p><p>“<em>Is this is because of what happened in Luxor? At the quarry?</em>”</p><p>Nicolo has grown agitated but does not raise his voice, only hisses it between clenched teeth, now in his mother-tongue. “<b>Because I let that man kill me?</b>” he says, lip curled, “<b>Or because I let Karim die? Because believe me, Yusuf! I know I almost ruined things for us, I know anyone could have seen me die and heal, and even with that gift it was all for nothing and Karim has been lost to us all. I have been thinking about it enough on my own without you blaming me for it!</b>”</p><p>“<b>Nicolo, I only mean-</b>“ Yusuf tries, but Nicolo waves a hand, and he hold his tongue.</p><p>The fight seems to have left his friend suddenly. One moment Nicolo is as taut as a drawn bow, the other the tension is abruptly cut. He bows his head, jaw still clenched tightly, but brow no longer wrinkled. Only set in determination.</p><p>“<em>It is fine</em>,” he relents, “<em>I will pack my things. And tell Mahmoud tomorrow</em>.”</p><p>He dries his hands on the front of his shirt and turns, moves to walk into his room.</p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p>No, no this is not what Yusuf had wanted.</p><p>Why was Nicolo not pleased? Not relieved that Yusuf had taken care of the heavy-lifting? Of finding out the details, of preparing everything, of cutting them loose?</p><p>Why had he looked as upset as Yusuf was feeling now?</p><p>This had not gone as Yusuf had planned. He was supposed to be the one to swallow his feelings, it was only supposed to be worth it if Nicolo would be happy. And he isn’t. Even he is not that great an actor. Why is he not happy? His shoulders are slumped and he had mentioned Luxor, his death, Karim’s death. What had that to do with anything? Was this an issue of the language barrier?</p><p>But who even cares about that when Nicolo is ready to leave and it is making him sick to his stomach.</p><p>When has the sight of Nicolo’s back elicited such a response?</p><p>(When has it not?)</p><p>(When will it ever not?)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Nicolo has not yet closed the door when Yusuf has his foot in the way, pushes it back open again. </p><p> </p><p>“Nicolo,” Yusuf says, beseechingly, and the way his friend looks at him, both cautious and incredibly hopeful is enough to strengthen Yusuf’s resolve.</p><p>“<b>Please,</b>” he implores, “<b>let me explain</b><em>.</em>”</p><p>There is a pause and Yusuf is so afraid that he will not be granted audience, that he has ruined everything, when Nicolo steps aside and gestures into the room.</p><p> </p><p>It is similar to Yusuf’s but definitely not as cluttered. There is only a chest in one corner, the bed across from it, covers carefully made. Nicolo’s longsword leans against the wall next to it, with a jug of water. A chair stands in the other corner below the window. Nicolo’s bag is slung over the backrest.</p><p>There isn’t really anywhere else to sit, so Yusuf sits down on the chair, leans forward to brace his lower arms on his thighs; runs his hands through his hair and leans back up again. Exhales. Nicolo meanwhile has sat down on his bed, at the very edge of it. His right leg is bouncing, a nervous tick he doesn’t seem to be aware of.</p><p>Yusuf’s heart wrenches in his chest. He has to consider what he wants to say, has to really think this through. Too often he has started talking without preamble, without premeditating the consequences of his words, having to convey certain feelings while concealing the rest. And while Nicolo’s Arabic had definitely improved, telling him everything in a foreign language would not be particularly conducive either.</p><p>Almost unwittingly Yusuf stands up, begins to pace. Nicolo is watching him with an uncomfortable focus, his eyes moving with Yusuf’s steps from one wall to the other.</p><p>“<b>I do not want you to leave</b><em>,</em>” he starts. Ok. Clear enough.</p><p>Nicolo opens his mouth, the look of confusion back on his face, but Yusuf raises his hands, as if to hold him back, “<em>Nono! I said I would explain.</em>”</p><p>He has to do something with his hands now that he has them stretched out, but Yusuf isn’t quite sure what - so he squeezes them into fists, releases, pulls at his fingers until finally crossing his arms.</p><p> </p><p>“<b>When I heard those men speak at the harbour,</b>” he begins, trying to order his thoughts, “<b>I believed you would… be excited. Be relieved, be glad to know someone from home. I thought you, you would want to leave, would do it without hesitation.</b>”</p><p>It is difficult to voice the fear, but Nicolo is looking at him with complete concentration so he presses on.</p><p>“<b>But you weren’t. You were not … happy as I expected, so I thought you were simply pretending not to be. To spare my feelings.</b>”</p><p>Yusuf wrings his hands and delves just a bit deeper, “<b>You mentioned Luxor, and you’re right. Not about me being upset had revealed our … condition, but that you had died. I saw that man kill you and it almost killed </b><b>me</b><b>.</b>”</p><p>The thought alone is enough to make Yusuf’s throat begin to close up again, “<b>I saw you go overboard, could not find you in the river, had to drag your body to shore, watch you heal, and it was almost too much. But you were fine, as always.</b>”</p><p>He waves a hand and has to clear his throat to continue, “<b>So, when we returned and I heard your language. I began thinking. You would not want to stay here forever.</b>”</p><p>Yusuf almost laughs, “<b>You would not want to stay here, with me forever.</b>”</p><p>He looks up and sees Nicolo staring at him with wide pale eyes and he has to ask the actual difficult question.</p><p>“<b>So, do you? Want to go home? To Genoa?</b>”</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo’s leg has stopped bouncing, and while his eyes are still pulled wide, he no longer looks worried as much as understanding.</p><p>He nudges himself back a bit, to sit more comfortably on his bed, and folds his hands in his lap, “<b>I. I don’t- ,</b>” he shakes his head.</p><p>“<em>I do not want to go to Genoa,” </em>he says, looking Yusuf in the eye, “<em>I do not want to leave Cairo, I do not want to leave you.</em>”</p><p>But then he lowers his head, “<em>I thought I had done something to offend you. Or had proven myself incapable,</em>” Nicolo grimaces, “<em>That you would want to get rid of me.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>Understanding washes over Yusuf and his stomach drops, simultaneously as his heart starts to pound in his chest. He is somehow pulled forward as if my an invisible string, moves to the end of the bed, sits down on the blanket covering the straw mattress next to his friend. Nicolo looks surprised at the sudden proximity but does not complain, turns to face Yusuf instead, still cautious.</p><p>“<em>I would be the stupidest man alive had that been my plan,</em>” Yusuf says and the corners of Nicolo’s mouth quirk upward.</p><p>He takes hold of Nicolo’s elbow, squeezes it in comfort, “<em>You must know that Karim was not your fault. Do not shoulder that guilt. I had only thought this would be better for you. It would have caused me great pain to see you go.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo nods solemnly but furrows his brow once again.</p><p>“<em>So it is settled?</em>” he asks, slowly, “<em>We will remain in Cairo?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf nods, “<em>For as long as it keeps us both here.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo mirrors his nodding, looks a bit lost in thought. He licks his lower lip and asks, “<em>And we remain friends?</em>”</p><p>The fondness is too much and Yusuf has to laugh in relief, feels how his wrinkled brow smooths out and throws his head back.</p><p>“<em>For as long as I don’t accidentally drive you away with my foolish behaviour.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo laughs loudly, it breaks out of him and he seems surprised at it as well.</p><p>“<em>I think I can deal with your foolishness, now that I know it is coming,</em>” he grins.</p><p>But if being foolish were the prerequisite to see Nicolo smile like that Yusuf would gladly be foolish for the rest of his life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>oh no there’s feeeeeelings! I am such a sucker for dumb misunderstandings as plot-points and I think Yusuf would really always wants what’s best for Nicolo, even if he definitely doesn’t like it.</p><p> </p><p>as aaaalways let me know what you thiiink and like, I always like hearing what things i can improve on/ include more of :) </p><p> </p><p>and stay safe and healthy everyone 💛☀️</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Perhaps</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*peaks head out behind corner* ok, i can explain</p><p>aaahh sorry that this is so laaaate and a bit short! I've experienced a tiny bit of writer's block and coupled with visiting relatives and having work start soon, I simply have noT found as much time as I would like to continue writing! </p><p>[additional quick disclaimer: this is NOT proofread, i hope you can forgiiiive me, but I will do it tomorrow! Just wanted to post something for you all :) ]</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>I have gotten to thinking,</em>” Nicolo starts one day when they are both walking home from the bath houses.</p><p><em>“Never a good idea,</em>” Yusuf quips, interrupting his friend. He laughs, jumps out of the way of the swat he knows is coming.</p><p>“<em>Unbelievable,</em>” Nicolo huffs, pulling back his hand, but he is smiling, “<em>No, I was thinking about what you said when you wanted to ship me off with those Genoans</em>.”</p><p>It had been a bit awkward after the whole debacle, Yusuf carefully stepping around Nicolo until the other man had lost his patience, griped that he was not a scorned damsel and demanded everything return to normal. Which it had, to a very comfortable extent, until the whole affair had left them closer friends than before.</p><p>This did not necessarily make things easier for Yusuf’s... situation.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>What did I say?</em>” Yusuf asks, falling back into step but still wary of Nicolo’s long-reaching hands, <em>“it is so difficult to keep track of the things I say, as they are so often both of vital importance and a poetic quality rivalled by no one.</em>”</p><p>“<em>And the things you say are so little in number,</em>” Nicolo deadpans, but his blank expression cracks at Yusuf’s loud gasp.</p><p>“<em>The insult!</em>” Yusuf yelps in mock offence, heart flipping as Nicolo laughs loudly, “<em>I will have you know,</em> <b>di Genova</b>, <em>that I have been able to charm quite a few with these </em><em>numerous</em><em> expressions of poetic talent,</em>” he continues his rant, “<em>and those who have known it have wept with both adoration at my written word: and grief, knowing they will never experience anything else like it.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo’s giggles subside and he suddenly looks somber.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh. Oh, I am sorry Yusuf,</em>” he says, looks honestly put out and raises his hand to comb back his still wet hair with his fingers.</p><p>“<em>Huh</em>,” Yusuf is stumped, eyes following the movement of Nicolo’s hand. “<em>What do you mean</em>?”</p><p>Nicolo winces, “<em>I am sure it is not nice to think of it. I did not mean to remind you of past … loves.</em>”</p><p>Yusuf stomach rolls at the word.</p><p>“<em>What? Oh, nono, do not worry yourself</em>.”</p><p>Nicolo frowns and almost looks apologetic, “<em>Still. I did not mean to intrude. Forgive me.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>The joking air has dissipated like morning fog and instead an odd awkwardness hangs in the air. It is entirely dissatisfactory.</p><p> </p><p>This had been a new development of their closer friendship. Yusuf had started to joke - not prying exactly - but making comments about relationships, entanglements, experiences, love. Testing the waters let’s say. To figure out the extent to which Nicolo had respected the prerequisites of his previous… vocation.</p><p>With not much luck.</p><p>But no matter. There were more important things to consider anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Since the ambush on their cargo and Karim’s death, regular business had grown tense. Most of the time there are always two people allocated to deliveries, multiple people staying close to the shop and the docks, to make sure there is nothing foul afoot.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Everyone had grown skittish and nervous, eager to return home for the day, with the easy comradery not as easy as it had once been. </span></p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Was there a mole in their midst? </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Would anyone betray the other? </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="Apple-converted-space">Who knew.</span>
</p><p><span class="Apple-converted-space"> And i</span>t was still not completely clear why the attack had occurred. The thugs had not stolen anything, had shown no interest in anything but the ship's charter book. The book did keep track of the exact times, locations, and details of every order and delivery made. Lists of prices and addresses, repeat customers and one-off transactions. Mahmoud was an easy-going man, but with a love for detailed and reliable bookkeeping, and a penchant for organising.</p><p>The only orders of value and importance that had been on the ship were a few sacks of saffron, star-anise and of course the limestone blocks which would have drastically sped up their shipwreck, had the bandits been successful in sinking the ship. They were designated for a building site in the city centre, were part of a larger contract. Mahmoud had won it from a rival who had been equally keen on the profitable offer.</p><p>If Yusuf had to guess there was something not quite kosher about the whole thing.</p><p> </p><p>But there was no way to figure out any particulars with the bandits either dead or gone with the wind. There was only the precaution of sticking closely together, keeping an eye out, and making sure both money and information remained close under wraps.</p><p>But even among the confusion, the hushed whispers that never revealed any news, Yusuf somehow still finds time to pine. Nicolo had now been taken fully under Abdallah’s wing, playing both the part of quartermaster and armed personnel, haven more than proven himself on the ride from Luxor to Cairo. Yusuf instead shares the office spaces with Zubeir, oversees deliveries when necessary, spends the afternoons helping with the inventory and preparing the next days orders. Each evening Yusuf meets his friend at the harbour or somewhere along the way (if Nicolo had left early to meet him halfway). And Nicolo will smile when he sees him, bid his goodbyes to the captain and everyone else who has started chatting after hours, and jog the last few paces until he reaches Yusuf. They will talk about their respective days, cook, eat, clean up, perhaps enjoy the cool air on the roof for an hour or two, and go to bed.</p><p>Yusuf has rarely felt simultaneously so at peace and so on edge. Some nights he is so close to doing something, to asking more pointed questions, to act on his feelings. But on others he avoids the topic completely. Remaining friends, yes, that is what matters. Now that peace has finally found them both.</p><p> </p><p>Yet Yusuf had never been one to conceal, well, anything. Least of all emotions. And so it had occurred that one evening, after helping out at the offices, Yusuf had confided in Zubeir, to complain of his situation.</p><p>Well, in actuality, he had been rather forced to confide.</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo had dropped something off, a report from another captain it must have been, and had stopped to chat.</p><p>“<em>I will buy bread, yes</em>?” he had asked Yusuf, “<em>For dinner? And I will grab some lamb, I think we don’t have much left of yesterday’s harira to serve as little more than a snack.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo had left with a wave and exact instructions on what parts of meat to buy, and Yusuf hardly noticed Zubeir sneak up on him.</p><p>“<em>Ah, so I see you’ve finally been able to hash things out</em>,” he grins, and claps a broad hand onto Yusuf’s shoulder.</p><p>He jumps.</p><p>“<em>What? What do you mean</em>?”</p><p>Zubeir waggles his eyebrows, “<em>With Nicolas? I have seen the way you two look at each other</em>.” His smile grows wide and warm, “<em>Believe me, I am glad for you both. Everyone needs another, and you two are so well matched.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf mind has gone blank and he physically shakes himself to clear his thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Zubeir, you are mistaken</em>,” he says, slowly, and with what he is sure is an impressive blush dusting his cheeks, “<em>We are good friends, it is true. But nothing more.</em>”</p><p>Zubeir looks puzzled, wrinkles his brow, “<em>Good friends? Surely you are the one who is mistaken, my friend</em>.”</p><p>Yusuf vigorously shakes his head, “<em>I am not. Trust me, there is nothing between us.</em>”</p><p>Zubeir has moved from puzzled to disbelieving.</p><p>“<em>Yusuuuf</em>-“ he draws out the vowel, “<em>that cannot be true. I am good with such things, believe me, ask my brother</em>!” He laughs, mischievously and nudges Yusuf with an elbow. “<em>If I had not told him about the looks his wife was throwing him, they would not yet be happily married</em>.” He tips his nose, “<em>I have a sense for such things</em>.”</p><p>Yusuf raises an eyebrow, “<em>Then why, pray-tell, are you not yet married if you have such a talent for match-making?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Do not change the subject!</em>” Zubeir grins, ignoring Yusuf’s attempt at deflecting. “<em>Be honest. Are you content being good friends? Am I mistaken? I shall gladly hold my tongue if that is the case.”</em></p><p>Yusuf holds out two seconds under his friends critical gaze and then caves.</p><p>“<em>In truth I am not. But you mustn’t tell a soul</em>!”</p><p>Zubeir promises, swears on both his mother and grandmother, and Yusuf sighs.</p><p>“<em>I</em> <em>am not ashamed of my affection but I do not want Nicolas to hear of it. It has taken a while for us to become friends: I am worried my feelings might make him… uncomfortable.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Why that</em>?” Zubeir asks, confused, “<em>He would only need to </em><em>accept or reject you. There should be nothing of it among friends.</em>”</p><p>Yusuf sighs again, “<em>No, no you don’t understand. In his other life he used to be a priest.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Zubeir blanks, and then (to Yusuf’s great surprise) starts laughing.</p><p>“<em>Do not laugh at my expense!</em>” Yusuf grouses, feeling entirely made fun of, “<em>I am pouring my heart out to you, Zubeir</em>!”</p><p>Zubeir does not stop for a while, but then hiccups and grins, rueful, “<em>Yusuf, I do not mean to tease. But this would not be a cause of worry to me</em>.”</p><p>“<em>What are you saying?</em>” Yusuf asks,<em> “You are aware they take a vow of celibacy, no? Why would a man choose such a profession if he weren’t completely uninterested in either type of person</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>Zubeir starts giggling again but stops when Yusuf shoots him a reproachful look. He clears his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yusuf, from what I’ve heard this might be good news for you.</em>” Zubeir leans forward, almost conspiratorially, “<em>Priests do not marry, that is true. But often it is simply a profession chosen by a wealthy father for a younger son, and with the monasteries</em><em>filled with only men, I am sure your luck lies not bad</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>It is nonsense of course.</p><p> </p><p>Who knows what Zubeir has heard. An old-wives tale, only rumours. He is kind and well-meaning but his advice alone is not worth the risk of revealing anything.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps.</p><p>Perhaps it would be best to somehow try to alleviate the infatuation. Surely that was all it is. There had been a bit of a dry streak, Yusuf will admit, and perhaps it was the only reason his brain chose to focus on the closest, (admittedly) handsome man he could find.</p><p>Yes, that would be the reason.</p><p>(Sure, in hindsight Yusuf would slap himself for his stupidity. But that is so often the case, that you know yourself so well that you are entirely able to convince yourself of the most unrealistic realities.)</p><p> </p><p>Zubeir finishes up most of the bookkeeping, locks up and bids Yusuf good-bye.</p><p>Yusuf walks home slowly, still chewing on Zubeir’s advice, his kind, encouraging, words. Who knew he was such a romantic?</p><p>But hope is a dangerous thing and Yusuf has been given too much of it in too quick succession. Things had turned out so much better after fleeing to Cairo. Life had become calm and enjoyable; two things that Yusuf was hardly used to.</p><p>Too good to be true.</p><p>Too good to be rightly deserved.</p><p> </p><p>He is two streets from home, has decided to cut through the market as a shortcut. It always lies spread out on a larger square, a bit farther from the city centre, where prices were often better and vendors a bit more relaxed. Everyone is slowly starting to pack up for the day, merchants chatting amongst themselves, laughing and smirking, or complaining about the day’s sales.</p><p>But there is a small stand that catches Yusuf’s eye, selling paper and pens of coal. Sketching had been a hobby he had grown to love once, and then sorely miss, with there never being enough time between one battle, one death and the other to engage in the activity. Finding proper places to sit for an afternoon and capture the buildings, people, atmosphere, had been difficult. But now…</p><p>It can’t hurt to look, and with the month still at its start and most of last month’s wages still in his pocket, Yusuf knows there would be a high chance of “looking” in fact leading to “buying”.</p><p> </p><p>The man sitting behind his wares is young, about Yusuf's age, and looks up from where he is drawing something himself, watches how Yusuf marvels at the different tones of coloured coal spread out on the mat in front of him.</p><p>“<em>May I</em>?” Yusuf asks and gestures at the pens. The young man nods, but does not go back to sketching. Instead he watches how Yusuf tries out the different tones on a scrap of paper provided for this exact purpose, smiles when he picks out two he likes.</p><p>“<em>I would take some of this paper as well</em>,” Yusuf says, and the man nods, counts off 10 pages, and names a price.</p><p>“<em>You have a good eye,</em>” he says as Yusuf picks out the coins, and he finally looks up to truly regard the other man. The vendor is already observing him with bright eyes, a slight smile on his lips and hair artfully tousled.</p><p> </p><p>He is very handsome.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Thank you,</em>” Yusuf replies, a bit taken-aback: but he catches himself quickly enough, “<em>Now that I have the proper instruments, the only challenge remains finding something adequate to sketch</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Oh, I am sure you will have no trouble</em>,” the young man replies, the smile turning mischievous, “<em>Though I do understand your predicament of finding a suitable subject. They can be hard to come by.</em>”</p><p>The words slip out faster than Yusuf can think to stop them, “<em>Oh, then I must truly be lucky to find both the tools and the subject in one place</em>.”</p><p>The man laughs, grins again. It is almost a smirk, but is too warm to hold any edge. It’s a nice smile.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Ahmad,</em>” he offers, shutting his sketchbook, and holds out a hand.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Yusuf</em>,” Yusuf replies, and moves to hand him the coins, lets their fingers brush as he drops them into the other man’s awaiting hand.</p><p> </p><p>Ahmad’s eyes crinkle and his smile widens.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, perhaps this will suffice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>dun dun duuuunnn</p><p>we are slowly moving into more plot-heavy stuff! I am definitely trying a few things out, so hold on to your hats :D </p><p> </p><p>as always, let me know what you thiiiink, and stay safe + healthy during these crazy times!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. (Self) Assurance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yusuf comes home with a skip in his step which he himself is surprised about. He is not quite giddy. No, perhaps not giddy, but enthusiastic maybe. Ahmad and him had arranged to meet after dinner tomorrow, and his fingers itch to start sketching again. A good start.</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo has just started cooking when he arrives at home. Yusuf closes the door behind him and inhales the smell of fresh bread and onions sizzling.</p><p> </p><p>“<b>Ah, Yusuf, thank God</b>,” his friend says, throwing a glance over his shoulder and vigorously stirring in a pot. “<em>I had thought I would get started, but…</em> <b>I am not sure I am doing this correctly.</b>”</p><p>Yusuf laughs and places his parcel on their low table.</p><p>“<b>Is hubris not a sin?</b>” he jokes, and only catches how Nicolo rolls his eyes, that almost-smile already gracing his face.</p><p>“<b>Come, hand me the spoon.</b>”</p><p>“<em>I will never learn this way,</em>” Nicolo bemoans, giving up the wooden spoon he had been pestering the onions with, “<em>I will be cursed to chop vegetables for the rest of my days. And we both know that is a long time indeed.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Oh don’t be dramatic</em>,” Yusuf grins and starts picking out spices from the small collection they had started to amass, “<em>I am sure with the right teacher even a layman would one day grow to be proficient</em>.”</p><p>Nicolo hums, visibly unimpressed, “<em>And you should be that teacher? What was that about hubris being a sin?</em>”</p><p>“<b>Whaaaat?</b>” Yusuf gasps, two shakes should be enough, but where is the salt.</p><p>“<em>You think I am speaking of myself? Oh, I am flattered Nicolo, but the fact that your mind immediately went there must be proof enough that there must be truth to it.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo snorts with full force and raises his hands in defeat, and the smile succeeds in overtaking his face, “<em>I give up! There is no winning with you. I will set out the bowls, and that will be my good deed for the day.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Ah, no, you cannot escape so easily, you can cut the lamb in a bit</em>.”</p><p>“<b>Yes, yes,</b><em> I will.</em>”</p><p>There is a pause then, “<em>Oh, you bought paper?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf looks over his shoulder. Nicolo is holding his purchased bundle, gingerly, examining it, looks back up and holds it out, “<em>Where do you want me to put this? It would be a shame if it got dirty.</em>”</p><p>“<em>Ah, ah, right, yes, I’ll put it in my room, thank you,</em>” Yusuf is not sure why he feels warm, almost as if he had been caught, red-handed. For something he had not done. Or at least not done yet? It does not matter, for Nicolo is already walking into his room.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Are you thinking of starting a journal?</em>” Nicolo asks when he returns, interested, shutting the door to Yusuf’s room behind him. The meat is lying next to the stove, already on a board to be cut, and Nicolo is back to standing next to him. He picks out a knife, tests it’s sharpness against his thumb and seems dissatisfied, “<em>There surely would be much to write down, would there not?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Yes- I mean, no- I mean, I am not going to write a journal, I do not think. At least not anything of my daily accounts.</em>”</p><p>“<b>Oh?</b>” Nicolo has picked out a clay bowl and turned it over, running the knife across the unglazed bottom in regular strokes. “<em>What will you write then?</em>”</p><p>“<em>Well,</em>” Yusuf busies himself with the onions, pulls the pot from the fire, “<em>I used to sketch quite a bit. In my youth. It was always an enjoyable pastime and </em><em>no</em><em> this is not the hubris speaking,</em>” he pauses to interject, and Nicolo half-smiles, “<em>but I had some skill. And I saw the materials at the market today, so I thought I would attempt to resume it</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Another pause, and there is no reason for his heart to beat as rapidly as it currently is, but Yusuf adds, “<em>The vendor I bought everything from was so kind as to offer to- to help me get back into it. After dinner tomorrow. We shall see</em>.”</p><p>Nicolo has halted his sharpening, turns to lean against the counter, knife momentarily forgotten, “<em>Really? That is good luck, Yusuf. I am glad to hear it.</em>”</p><p>That is an incredible amount of enthusiasm to receive from the usually stoic man and it does not help the thumping in Yusuf’s chest, but the moment passes soon enough. The scraping of the knife on the ceramic resumes.</p><p>“<em>Though I am sure you will not need much refreshing,</em>” Nicolo smiles, “<em>If I am to believe your </em><b>not-hubris</b><em>.</em>”</p><p>Yusuf feels how his heart restarts in his chest, and it is a relief to be back on safer ground, more familiar territory, “<em>No, no,</em>” he waves the spoon at the Genovan who only leans back marginally, “<em>I will take that for the compliment it is! And no more talking of sin, you heathen. Chop your meat.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo huffs, to hide his laugh and does as he is told. He gestures at the now cooled onions in pot, “<em>You get to pause and I do not? What is with the pot?</em>”</p><p>Yusuf grins, and pulls the pot back onto the fire, “<em>You were too slow with your chopping, and the onions have grown lonely - first lesson: it is best to have everything prepared beforehand.</em>”</p><p>Nicolo shakes his head but the smile is there nonetheless, “<em>But of course. Lonely onions. Let that be the first thing you draw</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>They wait until the oil has grown hot again before adding the meat. Yusuf browns it, adds the expertly chopped vegetables, and pours water from the jug on the windowsill, until everything in the pot is covered and can be peacefully left to simmer.</p><p>The silence is content. Dinner is cheerily bubbling along, giving of fragrant steam. There is a cooler breeze blowing in from the river, wafting through the window and spreading the smell further into the room.</p><p>Nicolo just leans against the counter, eyes on Yusuf’s constant stirring of the pot, but essentially looking off into the distance. But then he turns and nudges Yusuf with an elbow, until he can catch his eye.</p><p>“<em>But truly. If you would humour me, I would love to see anything you draw.</em>” He smiles, softer, and Yusuf knows he will not be able to deny him.</p><p>“<em>Even lonely onions?</em>” Yusuf asks, voice joking. He has to lighten the thickness of the atmosphere that only he is subjected to once again.</p><p>Nicolo laughs, eyes crinkled, entirely amused and entirely unaware, “<em>Even if they are lonely onions</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>———————————</p><p> </p><p>The next day passes quickly, and yet pulls itself oddly long, thick syrup making the afternoon last incredibly long. Yusuf is swift to leave work, pick up his supplies from home and eat dinner. Nicolo grins at the way he almost chokes on his food, laughs as his visible jitteriness.</p><p>“<b>You are like a child at Easter</b>,” he teases and in the end almost shoos Yusuf out the door.</p><p>He does not rush, exactly, but only walks a bit faster as not to be late. That would be rude.</p><p>But Ahmad is waiting where he was sitting yesterday, leaning against the brick-wall in the shade, gaze wandering across the square until he spots Yusuf. The man smiles and waves, and as Yusuf comes closer he visibly receives a once-over. It is already almost enough.</p><p>“I’m glad you came,” the artist says, “I don’t live far.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It is truly not more than a few streets until they stand in front a larger multi-storied house. Steps are carefully hewn into the rock on the right-hand side, the wood-banister well worn and smooth from countless hands. Yusuf follows the artist up the stairs, and when he holds the door open for him, steps into a nice room. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and it takes a while for his eyes to adjust to the sudden change inlight.</p><p>It is not as spacious as Nicolo’s and his place, but with larger windows and the added benefit of a higher ceiling making the room much cooler. The low afternoon light dyes everything a soft, warm orange. It washes over the walls and furniture, giving everything a dreamlike consistency. The shadows almost melt into one another, a darker ocher that does nothing to dispel to weird surreality of the warm living space.</p><p> </p><p>Yusuf feels something soft brush his neck, and goosebumps are already rippling across his arms before he can whip around, startled, to see Ahmad standing there, smirking.</p><p>“Jumpy,” he grins, but takes a step back. He’s giving Yusuf space, stance relaxed and open but he has his head cocked in question, “So…?”</p><p>“So…” Yusuf echos. He is not usually this taciturn. Nicolo must be rubbing off on him- But no! This is not the time to think those words in that order.</p><p>Ahmad laughs, but turns mischievous once more, taking a slow step closer again. “A suggestion: I would say, we should sketch while we have the light. And then..” Another step, and Yusuf grows warm, a comfortable heat in the pit of his stomach based solely on anticipation and the way he can see the other man’s tongue dart out to sweep across his lower lip.</p><p>“See what other <b>things</b> we can preoccupy ourselves with.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>This was a great idea.</p><p> </p><p>The night air is cool on Yusuf’s face, which is not quite as flushed as it was half an hour ago. Ah yes, the pretty afternoon light had faded into a deep purple night, too dark to capture neither landscape nor portrait, so a different diversion had to be found. And oh had it been a diversion. The other artist had surely proven himself skilled. Not only with charcoal and perspective but with hands and mouth and tongue. And now it is almost like being sated. Calm. The constant buzz under his skin finally quieter, dampened, no longer the first thing to be felt.</p><p> </p><p>He opens the front door quietly, is not surprised to find everything dark, the last lamp having been put out a good while ago. Yusuf is quiet as he locks the door, sneaks into his room and crawls under the covers of his bed.</p><p> </p><p>Yes. This is good. There is no reason for his heart to be beating so forcefully.</p><p> </p><p>Yes. This is a clean solution.</p><p> </p><p>———————————</p><p> </p><p>The next few days transpire in a very similar manner. Before Yusuf knew it, two weeks have passed.</p><p> </p><p>It is an outlet, nothing more, nothing less - something to sate the ravenous longing that has found itself a home in Yusuf’s chest. Why is it there? Since when exactly has it been there? Who is there to say. Perhaps it has always been present, lingering: and the longer lull had finally caused it to become truly noticeable, truly irritable. But now? Well, there is no sense in denying that it is there and it has no inclination of leaving. At least not yet.</p><p> </p><p>Nicolo has not given any indication as that he might know what he has been up to. Why should he? What would he know? And why would it matter?</p><p>They are still good friends, yes, but why would this be something to share? They still spend the evenings sharing a meal and afterwards, well. They have not stayed up too late in a while, Yusuf gone to draw or blaming a heavy head and lack of sleep to be able to retire to bed early. He abstains from spending too much time with Nicolo, it does not seem the right thing to do. Nicolo would call it “<b>penance</b>”,but that is not the right word. Which sin is Yusuf supposed to have committed? What action should he be ashamed of? None at all.</p><p>Yet there has to be some reason why Yusuf would rather not spend the evenings with Nicolo. Sitting in the dark, under the night sky, beside a friend he wishes were just something a little bit more, and share things he would never say in the light of day? That night on the boat had opened the floodgates and things are just so easy with the other man, simple in a way Yusuf would not have expected. The solemn quiet, the well-thought-out words that his companion so often contributes after a longer story Yusuf finds difficult to bring to an end. It is too easy to speak, too easy to feel more and more warmth bloom up in his chest by merely looking at the other man.</p><p>It has nothing to do with the immortality. At least, Yusuf does not think it does- but then again, what if that is the case?That is another question nagging at the back of his head. What if these feelings are simply due to his mind being destitute, clinging to the nearest (most secure) source of comfort? Nothing more?</p><p> </p><p>So this is why Ahmad is a good ... alternative? A safe solution at least. A way to evade the questions that are quickly but surely becoming the only thing to fill his head, front to back, echoing without a satisfactory answer to be found.</p><p> </p><p>But. Yusuf grows comfortable.</p><p>Too comfortable.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok. Sooooo. This has been sitting in my drafts for a mooooonth, aND! I am finally happy with it!<br/>Kinda?</p><p>Bit of a background-info, i've finally started work in November (working on my PhD! Yay!) and have found writing after working a biiiit difficult- nonetheless i hope over the holidays i can be a bit more active!</p><p>I hope you enjoy iiiit, as always, your comments mean tHE aCTUAL worLD to me. I hope you're all staying safe out there, staying healthy, and I will hopefully see you baaack here soon(-ish) for Chapter 9! Love you all, thanks for sticking arooound</p><p>all the best, Jo</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So two weeks pass but Nicolo does not ask him about the lessons. Not directly. Yusuf has learned that the man seldomly addresses topics up-front. At least, not with him- or not considering art? Who knows. But after mentioning the wish to see something of Yusuf’s drawings that first night, the request had not been repeated. Yusuf is not too unobservant to not see the way Nicolo lingers in the morning, opening his mouth only to close it again, hesitating somehow while they gather their things for work: how he throws a glance at the door to Yusuf’s room (where he always keeps all of his art and supplies). Yusuf does not hide anything, but he does not leave anything out in their shared living-space. Why would he? Why shouldn’t he?</p>
<p>It is not as if Yusuf is actively concealing anything, it is not as if he would not want to show Nicolo anything at all, but well… if he does draw something adequate enough, it should at least be nice. A good view of the city- or perhaps of the docks where they spend so much of their time, something that Nicolo will immediately recognise, something of theirs. But the days are getting shorter and he never spends as much time practicing as he would like.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So it is entirely not in accordance with Yusuf’s interests when Ahmad leans over his shoulder to watch him sketch one late afternoon.</p>
<p>“Oh, who is this?” he grins, seeing the profile Yusuf is trying to pin down with only the lightest of charcoal-strokes, and then laughs as Yusuf jerks upright, slamming his heads on the half-finished sketch.</p>
<p>“WhAT?” his voice comes out in a higher pitch than usual, which only makes Ahmad cackle louder. “Nothing! I mean, nobody!”</p>
<p>Ahmad grins and with an elegant tug, pulls the sheet free from between Yusuf’s fingers and the clay tablet he had placed underneath it for stability, leaving Yusuf to snatch at empty air.</p>
<p>It is not the best likeness by any standard but it is close. Yusuf finds it more difficult to capture a face when he knows it. When he is aware of how the eyes are capable of looking, torn open in fear or glowing with soft affection. The pull of the mouth is different when you know someone well, depending on the mood, the person they’re conversing with, the weather.</p>
<p>So yes, Yusuf is not entirely happy with how he had been able to pin down his friend, but it is a good start:. Pale, focussed eyes; a hooked nose; a strong jaw; a thin-lipped, wide mouth. Ahmad seems to think so as well.</p>
<p>“Ohhh, a suitor,” he grins, with no malice at all, holding the paper into the light, “he is not from here I am guessing?”</p>
<p>An insufficient answer would be more suspicious than none at all, so Yusuf tries to find some adequate, noncommittal words.</p>
<p>“Oh hush, do not judge others by your own preferences,” he tries to laugh and re-grabs the piece of parchment, sweeping it smooth despite not being wrinkled. “Just the friend I have been telling you about.”</p>
<p>Word of Nicolas had been dropped quickly, Yusuf telling a story which would have been incomplete without the addition of his friend. And then he had been left to explain their friendship, a censored version of how they ended up becoming acquainted, how they came to reside in Cairo.</p>
<p>“So this is him!” Ahmad exclaims, exalted, smile broad on his face, eyes twinkling, “he is handsome!”</p>
<p>Yusuf does not know what exactly to answer to that, stutters something and lets Ahmad examine the sketch more carefully over his shoulder. “He does have a terribly large nose though, who would have thought?” he grins. There is an odd urgent necessity to defend Nicolo’s large crooked nose, but Yusuf suppresses it in lieu of arousing any more suspicion.</p>
<p>“I guess that is true,” he concedes, contemplating his sketch.</p>
<p>Yes, he will definitely not be able to show this one, it is not quite right. Nicolo’s stare is too blank, his mouth too expressionless, and his jaw does not follow the exact curve it normally adheres to. The mistake of a novice, too easily rectified if he were to sketch from the source.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to guess,” Ahmad laughs, and playfully pinches him in his side. “Bring him here! Ask him to sit model for you, I’m sure that will help with you capturing his likeness.”</p>
<p>“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Yusuf is immediately declining before the thought fully traverses his mind. Nicolo would probably be a more patient model than most, the way he calms completely when he's focused on something, and it would definitely give Yusuf a good excuse to stare, to observe, to pay exact attention without finding an explanation, shit- He has to physically shake himself. “I was just scribbling something down," he counters instead, "It requires no further study, really.”</p>
<p>Ahmad stops grinning, fixes Yusuf with a stare. Squeezes one eye shut. “I seeeeee,” he pulls the vowel long, “I wouldn’t mind though, are you certain?”</p>
<p>"Completely," Yusuf nods, and in desperate need of a change in topic manages to ask, "Have those new watercolours come in yet by any chance?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yusuf tries to forget the conversation, nay, the whole topic over the course of the next day's work. But he seems to be doing a bad job of it, jumps when Nicolo places a jug of water down at breakfast, trips over an uneven stone on their way to the docks, is so deep in thought that he knows he will be useless today.</p>
<p>Zubeir eyes him with suspicion after he miscalculates the simple summation of that morning's transactions for the third time in a row. He's gnawing at the end of his pencil, a bad habit he usually judges others for, while Ahmad's words roll around in his head. It wouldn't be weird to ask, right? Nicolo surely wouldn't refuse the request, he might be flattered even. He is so oddly humble, does not think any more on his appearance other than wearing a clean shirt and a clean face, does not catch the glances more than a few people throw him on the street. And they are not always purely curious, but all too often appreciative...</p>
<p>He misplaces the decimal point of the division again and sighs, loudly, and just the tiniest bit exaggerated.</p>
<p>Zubeir is too kind to not engage in his melodramatics and grimaces, "There is only one reason for a man to sigh in such a way. I presume you have not yet taken my advice?"</p>
<p>Yusuf slaps his hands onto his face, rubs his eyes, and slowly pulls them down his cheeks. "No," he admits, rests his head on his hands, "no, I have not, my friend. And there is little chance that I ever will."</p>
<p>Zubeir tuts and places down a cup of tea. The sweat scent is a balm on Yusuf's soul, and he does feel better at being coddled.</p>
<p>"Have faith, brother!" his friend's hand is warm on his shoulder, and it is truly a comfort, "What is stopping you? I truly do not understand your hesitancy."</p>
<p>Yusuf sighs, and takes a sip too early, the hot tea burning his tongue. It is almost an excuse not to answer, but he wants to voice his thoughts, supposes that speaking them out loud will lessen some of their weight. "I truly cannot tell you. I usually never delay these matters, it is always better to voice everything outright. But there is too much risk involved," the sigh escapes him without his consent, "Too much too loose."</p>
<p>Zubeir replies something supportive as always, but Yusuf is no longer listening. He is lost in his own thoughts, too convinced of his own conviction that nothing else will sway him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yusuf leaves work not long after, gets more or less shooed out of the door by an exaperated Zubeir, and finds himself wandering down to the docks even though he knows he will arrive way too early. He stops for some groceries, vegetables and a piece of mutton he couldn't deny from the elderly vendor, and is still too early when he reaches the harbour. The ships are docked where they always are, the largest one missing as it is currently on its way down the Nile. But the others barges are strung in rank and file and Yusuf knows which one Nicolo will be dealing with today. He had complained of the ship's incomprehensible ledger and it making the un- and reloading of the ship that much more complicated. Something about a new colleague who did not yet have the exact knack for things yet- <em>but things would get better</em>, Nicolo was quick to assure.</p>
<p>His friend is always easy to find. Let there be a throng of people working and you would find the Genoan in the middle of it, lending a hand to whichever task seemed to be the most arduous. And with the bright sun reflecting off his hair, there might as well be some invisible force forcing Yusuf to look exactly at the right spot.</p>
<p>But as he moves closer Yusuf recognises one of the people clustered around the landing stage. <br/>The darkshiny hair, the slim shoulders. <br/>Ahmad. <br/>Yusuf can only see him from the back, but it definitely is Ahmad who is in deep conversation with Nicolo, who seems very focused, mouth a firm line, nodding along to what the other man is saying. Yusuf does not know that his stomach is actually doing, but it feels like it is turning over on itself- flipping and growing to reach upwards, nipping at his throat.</p>
<p>He reaches them too quick, has not yet prepared what to actually say but Ahmad takes that task off his shoulders.</p>
<p>"<em>Yusuf</em>!" he laughs, smile wide, "<em>There you are, I was just talking to Nicolas here! How have you never introduced us, we are already the best of friends.</em>"</p>
<p>"<em>Well, is this not a coincidence,</em>" Yusuf manages, a bit out of breath, "<em>the best of friends? Already?</em>"</p>
<p>Nicolo smiles that gentle smile of his, the edges of his mouth turned just the slightest bit upward and only the soft crinkle in his brow betrays his confusion. He nods, "<em>Yes. Ahmad has said you are looking for a- a person?"</em></p>
<p>"<em>To draw!</em>" Ahmad amends, grinning at Yusuf with great satisfaction, "<em>A model of sorts- it is always easier to draw people from real life than just from your imagination, isn't that right Yusuf</em>?"</p>
<p>Nicolo nods earnestly even though Yusuf can discern the absolute puzzlement of his gaze, ignored in favour of not appearing rude.</p>
<p><em>"Well, not always</em>," Yusuf has to say, "<em>but that always depends.</em>" He tries to throw Ahmad a hard look, but the bastard only winks at him, entirely too cheeky.</p>
<p>"<em>Of course, it depends, but, Nicolas, you'd be very much suited! Yusuf would it appreciate it too, I'm sure.</em>"</p>
<p>Yusuf has to swallow an expletive with the way Nicolo is actually considering the offer, the proposition more accurately.</p>
<p>"<em>Do you think?</em>" he asks, eyes earnest and gaze considerate, "<em>would it be helpful?</em>"</p>
<p>Yusuf opens his mouth-</p>
<p>"<em>Of course!</em>" Ahmad nods, vigorously, "<em>I'll tell you what, I can pick you up next time we sketch, huh? We can even do it by the docks, if you prefer.</em>"</p>
<p>Nicolo nods, still a bit hesistant, and Yusuf sees his chance, "<em>Great, then that it settled. Ahmad, could we talk for a moment</em>?" He still has the bag of groceries under his arm as he motions for the artist to follow.</p>
<p>"<em>I'll get dinner started, alright?</em>" he assures Nicolo, who is still stationary, "<em>take your time getting home, I'll have everything ready,</em>" Yusuf calls over his shoulder, and just sees his friend nod before turning his attention to Ahmad.<br/><br/></p>
<p>"Well that worked out great, didn't it?" the other man asks, still grinning mischievously. "I do not know what you were worried about! Your friend seemed perfectly open to the idea!"</p>
<p>"What idea exactly?" Yusuf hisses, heart hammering for a reason he can't quite discern, "why are you here? How did you- I mean, how were you able to-"</p>
<p>"Find him?" Ahmad grins, smile broad and bright, "Yusuf, seriously, it's not too difficult with the stories you've told and me having grown up in this city. And what do you mean what idea? Didn't we talk about this only yesterday?"</p>
<p>Yusuf gapes for words, searches for them and they come only haltingly, "Yesterday? What- I have no idea how you could fathom that- that I would need someone to sketch or even need you to ask my friend yourself?"</p>
<p>"Well you seemed so uncomfortable almost when the question came up," Ahmad wrinkles his brow, "I thought it would be easy for me to-"</p>
<p>"To just- just intervene?" Yusuf interrupts him.</p>
<p>The whole conversation has carried on so far that both men find themselves in front of his and Nicolo's small home.</p>
<p>"Come on, Yusuf, let's not leave this situation upset. Invite me in for a cup of tea?"</p>
<p>Well, that's not really something absurd that he can refuse and Yusuf finds the key in his pocket easily enough, unlocks the door and pushes it open.</p>
<p>"I do not know why this whole situation as gotten you so heated," Ahmad sighs, and now he does look a bit sheepish. "I thought you were just feeling awkward. That you were hesitant to ask and that I was doing you a favour."</p>
<p>Yusuf sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and exhales, trying to push out his frustration alongside the air. He fills a pot with water, places it on the stove and moves to light the fire below. There are still faint embers from this morning's fire and they are easy enough to relight. He pushes a piece of wood in through the small front hatch and sees the flames start to lick at the fuel.</p>
<p>"I'm not heated, not really," he sighs again, moving back up, rubs his face and leans against the counter. Ahmad looks a bit lost in the unfamiliar space, has his arms crossed protectively but still fidgets, moving his weight from one foot to the other every couple of seconds. "I am not upset," Yusuf amends, "It was just ... unexpected I guess. Seeing you at the docks like that, it was difficult to place."</p>
<p>Ahmad raises a brow and moves slightly closer, "Unexpected?"</p>
<p>Yusuf has to deflect with a wave of his hand, "You know- seeing someone you usually just know in one context suddenly placed in another. Like a colliding of worlds you previously did not think possible of existing simultaneously."</p>
<p>Great. Now the words come.</p>
<p>Ahmad gives a smirk and moves closer still, "Is the image of me at the harbour, so close to that type of manual labour so unthinkable?"</p>
<p>Yusuf scoffs, turns back to face the stove. The water is finally hot enough, small bubbles bursting at the surface. Yusuf grabs the handle of the pot with a rag, pours it carefully into the small metal tea pot their landlady had been so kind as to gift them. <em>A morning without tea is a morning without the sun,</em> she had proclaimed and pressed it into Yusuf's hands.</p>
<p>When he turns back to grab the cups Ahmad is surprisingly close.</p>
<p>"I think I have figured it out," he says, voice soft. "It's not because I was close to the harbour was it?"</p>
<p>There is suddenly a stubborn lump at the back of Yusuf's throat. He swallows, tries to temper it down, "What?"</p>
<p>"I mean," the artist moves a step closer still, and Yusuf is again leaning against the counter, against his own volition, "you did not mind me anywhere else, did not mind the change in location." Ahmad's gaze is serious, sorrowful almost, "Only the change in company."</p>
<p>It's difficult to speak over the hammering of his heart in his chest but somehow Yusuf manages it, manages the denial, "Do not be silly, I was just surprised, just-"</p>
<p>Ahmad silences him with a warm press of lips against his cheek. A friendly kiss more than anything else, and the slide of his thigh between Yusuf's legs does nothing for him, even as the mouth trails lower against his neck.</p>
<p>"I suspected as much," the other man sighs, breath tickling against Yusuf's collarbone, entirely resigned and not at all surprised, "I just hoped-"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door opens and Nicolo calls, "<strong>I'm baaack</strong>," pulls the vowel long, <strong>"I brought-</strong>" and the other two jump apart too late. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*crawls out of my little hole* anyone still heeeere?</p>
<p>guys i am sO sorry for this being so very late! Life has been crazyyyy, i've been preparing/holding/grading exams this whole past month and then my brother's student accommodation burned down last week ... it's been wild</p>
<p>hope you like thiiis chapter, it ends on a little bit of a cliffhanger but the majority of chapter 10 is already written! let me know what you think in the commeeents! your kudos and kind words mean the wooorld to be</p>
<p>stay safe and see you all soooon</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>aahh so that's that, hope you enjoyed it,  let me know what you think! </p><p> </p><p>you can come find me on tumblr @jofngve where i do spend most of my time yelling about these two boyss</p></blockquote></div></div>
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